


Haute Couture Facade

by FineTheCouchIsCoolToo



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 18 is the legal drinking age in england btw, 2D is nineteen in this bc im setting their ages up like it was when Murdoc crashed into him, M/M, Slow Build, i know nothing abt england or fashion, so tell me if i get anything wrong, this is some kind of fashion AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FineTheCouchIsCoolToo/pseuds/FineTheCouchIsCoolToo
Summary: Murdoc is a famous model. 2D is a nineteen year old with a need for cash. Murdoc has recently taken on the job of designing his own fashion line, and, because he's Murdoc, he has no clue what to do. 2D has a natural fashion that Murdoc admires and is hired as his secret advisor for the project. Eventually they probably fall in love. Who knows?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This AU was thought up by my friend @squishylee and I am writing it for a comic of theirs so if you hate this AU idea tell them not me thx

The energy in a pub is, on any normal day, lacking- enough to put any patron who has had one too many beers to sleep- but with a band that isn’t half bad front and center on the small wooden platform that goes as a stage and a grimy teenage boy as lead singer, the energy becomes infectious. Perhaps not the pub itself, whose patrons remain as fixated on their drinks and their partners as before the band had come to play, but the animation that the young musician behind the microphone exerts is enough to have Murdoc Niccals looking beyond the occasional prostitute and directly into the bright lights that surround the singer.  


Immediately after a mediocre set is over, Murdoc is at the edge of the platform, cape still settling. “What’s your name?”  


The singer seems shocked that anyone had been listening to his music. “Um, the band’s name is Apez. We have CDs in the back, if you want one? They’re only five dollars and-”  


“Your name, not the band’s.” Murdoc growls, effectively interrupting him.  


“Oh.” The boy stays quiet for a moment, trying to distinguish if this is yet another old man hitting on him, and if so, how to go about it. “My name is Stuart Pot. Are you a producer?”  


Murdoc barks out a laugh, sharp and beaten down only by the stench of liquor on his breath. “No. I’m a model,”  


Stuart looks the man up and down, obviously bemused by the fact that a man who is so hideous it’s ridiculous could possibly be a model, before he sees the nose. “Murdoc Niccals?”  


Murdoc grins, only now allowing for the other indicator of his person- those gnarly and rotting teeth- to show. “That’s me.”  


Clutching at the ends of his shirt, Stuart begins to fidget. “What would,” He clears his throat, coughing into his hand before wiping his sweaty palms on his shirt and looking Murdoc in the eyes. “What would a model want to do with a singer?” He bites his lip until he realizes what he’s said, then blurts before Murdoc can open his mouth, “Not that I’m calling myself a singer! I mean, I am singing, but not a real one. Um,” His voice lowers again. He can see his bandmates watching him with curious looks on their faces. “What?”  


Murdoc gives the boy some time in case he decides to blurt something out again before he responds. “I don’t want you as a singer.” He answers. “But first,” He makes it clear that he’s looking towards the group of dirty twenty-somethings that are staring them down. “Can I get you a drink? I’m sure being in the spotlight for this long is uncomfortable for you.”  


Stuart is not sure if that was an insult or an actual question, and he feels a sting in his cheeks. “Yes?”  


Murdoc takes his elbow, leading him to a lit booth against the farther wall of the pub. “Don’t be nervous,” He mutters as they walk. “Your friends can see us.”  


Stuart had not been nervous about anything but his appearance in front of Murdoc, but now his mind fills with awful possibilities for the end of tonight.  


They sit across from one another, Stuart with his back pressed to the booth and his hands gripping the edge of the table. He’s not sure whether he should be exhilarated to be sitting at a table alone with Murdoc Niccals or frightened that he’s making the wrong impression.  


“Stop worrying, relax.” Murdoc does his best to soothe the boy without going out of his way. “What do you want to drink?”  


Stuart coughs, “A pint would be fine.”  


Murdoc orders three. “I’m curious,” He starts, making himself comfortable in the seat. “Is this band, Gorillaz or whatever you called it-”  


“Apez.”  


“Apez, yeah, yeah. Is this something you’re invested in?”  


Stuart cranes his neck to look at his bandmates, who have all lost interest in him and have sat themselves for a drink away from him. “Not really. This is one of our first gigs and we aren’t even being paid. I’m kind of just a part of it because their real singer quit and sometimes they let me sleep in their van.” He sinks into his seat. He hadn’t planned on revealing his living arrangements so quickly. “But, um, basically it’s nothing.”  


“That’s good.” Murdoc takes a gulp of his pint, setting it back on the table in such a way that rings to Stuart an air of finality, as if those words mean something important for him. He leans in closer, his worries in the back of his mind.  


“It is?” He does not mask the eagerness in his voice.  


“Yeah,” Murdoc taps his nails against the sweating glass. “Because I have a proposition for you.”  


By now, Stuart is convinced that this is more than the usual old man offering him a cozy bed to sleep in for a night in return for one sexual favor or another. Surely Murdoc Niccals wouldn’t spend so much time beating around the bush if that were his plan.  


Murdoc takes his silence as the opportunity to go on. “I’m guessing by your reaction once you found out who I am, you’re fully aware of my work.”  
Stuart nods with vigor.  


“I’m also guessing that you know that recently I’ve been gifted the opportunity to make my own clothing line for the new season.”  


Stuart did not know this. He assumes it is something anyone with access to a phone would know. Regardless, he listens.  


“Well, I’ve been struggling. I look good in clothes, but I don’t know a thing about fashion.” Murdoc’s index finger trails over the top of his glass, and Stuart takes delight in the fact that the nail polish isn’t just for photo shoots. “When I saw you singing earlier, you absolutely entranced me. At first I thought it was the music, but if I’m being honest, your bandmates are shit. It’s your whole look, the grime and the ripped up clothes and all that.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes, but refrains from making eye contact, instead following his own fingertip. “I need a fashion advisor,” He shifts in his spot, uncrossing his legs under the table and making it clear to anyone except for Stuart that he is uncomfortable. “But an undercover one, if you will. Like a ghost writer.”  


Stuart has been watching him in a daze, hearing the words but not comprehending them. “You want me? To do that?” He asks, his voice light and airy.  


“If you’re willing.”  


Once he realizes that this is a business proposition he perks up. In all honesty, he is entirely fashion blind. His “look” is clothing he has been living in for months, and the only reason it looks like a fashion statement and not like he’s the homeless teen he really is is because his bandmates let him have a shower before the gig. He’s more than unqualified and even inappropriate for the job, but his band is making no money and anything would be better than his current state. “I’ll do it.” He says, feigning confidence in hopes that Murdoc cannot immediately see through the fact that he has no idea how he will pull this off.  


Murdoc grins, and pulls an impressive wad of cash from underneath his cape.  


“You just carry that kind of money around?” Stuart’s eyes widen.  


Murdoc shrugs. “Most prostitutes don’t take card.”  


Stuart blushes. “Oh,”  


Murdoc shakes his head. “Anyway, this is for you now. It’s not much, I know,”  


Stuart has never seen so much paper money at once in his life.  


“But it’s a start. And that’s not all of it, obviously,”  


Stuart can feel his mouth watering at the thought of clean sheets and all of the food money like that could buy.  


“But I do need to assure you won’t just run off with my money and I’ll never see you again.” Murdoc smirks.  


For a moment, Stuart just looks at the cash on the table.  


“Take it.”  


Stuart does so, his hands shaking as they wrap around the money. He begins to stuff it in his pockets, and Murdoc pretends that he hasn’t noticed all of the red flags that this may not be the best economic decision.  


“Meet me at Kong Agency tomorrow. Whatever time is good for you, but not too early. Just tell the woman at the front you’re here for me, and if she doesn’t believe you, tell her to call my office.”  


Stuart wonders what kind of model has his own office. Before he can ask, a purple cape is tickling the end of his nose and Murdoc is gone.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D makes sure that he passes for a fashionably conscious person. Murdoc makes sure that 2D is in this for the long haul.

When Murdoc leaves the booth, Stuart is left with crumpled bills in his sweaty hands and butterflies in his stomach. At the time he had joined this little band he’d had no clue that he’d meet his idol. Even when they’d booked this gig he’d been less than excited. Perhaps he’s not enough of a superfan to have known that this dusty pub was a hotspot for male models, but at the looks of the place (nearly empty and so pitiful it reeks), no one else is either. Oce his pockets are sufficiently stuffed and he is certain that no money will fall out, he grabs the pint he’s been gifted and stands from the booth, walking like a freshly birthed fawn to the table where his bandmates reside.  


He clears his throat. “Hey guys,”  


They all look up at him, and the initial excitement of meeting Murdoc Niccals fades. He’s always felt weird about this group, maybe because they’re all older than him but not nearly as mature or maybe because they started this band in high school and he joined off of craigslist two months ago, but regardless of the reason, tension has been there since the moment he didn’t click like their old singer did.  


“Hey, Stu.” The bassist sits with his arm around their drummer. The band had always seemed very indie movie to him, and he isn’t entirely sure how their dynamic works or even where their old singer went- he assumes that the guy finally decided to grow up and go to college, but his guess is as good as anyone else’s since no one tells him a thing- but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Take a seat.”  


He does, smiling at everyone around the table and tapping his fingers against the pint in his hands. “Good gig, huh?”  


Mumbles of satisfaction sound from around him, and the guitarist nods in the direction of where Stuart had come from. “How come you didn’t go home with him?”  


Stuart waves a hand through the air, brushing the question away. “He wasn’t looking for that.”  


“What was he looking for?” The guitarist scrunches up his nose in confusion.  


Stuart finally takes a drink from his pint. “Well, actually, he offered me a job.” He gulps. “So I don’t really need to be a part of the band anymore,”  


“Oh.”  


Stuart gets up before he becomes the victim of scrutiny for leaving them and, to a lesser extent, for taking a job from a random man in a shady pub. As he’s walking away, he swears he can see relief on their faces, but the feeling of cash in his pockets leaves him without care as to how three near-strangers view him.  


The first thing he does when he leaves the pub is buy a cheap hotel room. He would have splurged and got an expensive one as some physical way of demonstrating the change in his life from this point forward, but at this time of night no nice places are open and he has to opt out for a Premier Inn.  


When he walks into the room he ignores the fact that nothing is too fancy or nice, and focuses on the fact that somehow, in the strangest way, he finally has a place that is his own. Even if for only a night.  


The second thing he does when he leaves the pub is shower. Regardless of the fact that he showered hours earlier, the feeling of hot water on his sore shoulders is something he will never take for granted.  


The third thing he does when he leaves the pub is something he’s not necessarily ashamed of, but something that makes him feel a bit too animalistic. While still in his towel he lies on the new bed and relishes in the feeling of the sheets against his skin. They’re softer than much of anything that he’s felt in a while. He doesn’t put his clothes back on. He puts them in the wash and sprawls nude across the sheets as he contemplates how the next hours are going to go. The moment he had put the detergent all over his clothes he’d realized that his grime was the only reason Murdoc had considered him as some sort of advisor. He considers even meeting Murdoc tomorrow, whether the money he has is enough for a longer period of time or if he’d feel like a bastard for leaving. After a long time of staring up at the ceiling fan and weighing his options, he decides that before he goes to see Murdoc, he’ll just have to spend all of his money on new clothes.  


He knows that as a model, Murdoc must know everything that’s in the stores, so he decides that he’ll go thrifting, and spend however long it takes to replicate whatever he’d had tonight. He might roll his new clothes in some dirt before seeing Murdoc. The only thing he’s unsure of, and the only thing that makes him feel like an animal, is whether he is going to these lengths to get close to his idol or to get copious amounts of cash.  


The next day, as he’s trying on high-waisted and ripped jeans in a hole-in-the-wall vintage store, the reality of his situation sets in. The realization that he has spoken to Murdoc Niccals and is going to see him again at any point in the day is so unreal to him that he gets a migraine in the middle of the store, and has to buy his final outfit quickly and book it to a drugstore so he can finally buy some over the counter painkillers.  


Eventually, with an orange bottle in the palm of his hand and some loose tanktop thrown on, he feels confident enough that he matches his persona from last night that he can get a taxi to Kong.  


He walks into the building and immediately he feels like his dirty sneakers are leaving a trail on the marble floor. The ceilings are so high he wonders if the outside of the building was a facade and there is only one floor, and the front room is so empty and clean he feels that he sticks out like a sore thumb. Nonetheless, he walks up to the woman behind the counter that is the only real solid structure in the area.  


“Hello.” He says.  


The way she looks at him very clearly shows that she thinks he must be lost. “Hello, sir. What might be your business here today?”  


Stuart is still looking around in wonder; he doesn’t blame her for her condescension. “I’m here to see Murdoc Niccals,”  


“I’m sorry sir, fans aren’t allowed to see him.”  


“No, uh, he knows I’m here.”  


She looks at him with pity. The strain in his voice from nervousness is not helping. “Call him and ask. My name is Stuart Pot.”  


She looks at him with exhaustion, typing the number without even looking at the keypad. “Do you want it on speaker, too?”  


Stuart knows she must be being sarcastic, but he nods anyways.  


It rings for a few moments, before Murdoc answers. “Yes, Cindy?” The annoyance in his voice is enough to make Stuart physically cringe.  


“Sir, a young man is here to see you. His name is,” She pauses. “What was it?”  


“Um,” He raises his voice to nearly a yell, “Stuart Pot.” He has to make sure Murdoc can hear him.  


“Stuart Pot.”  


The line stays quiet for a moment. “I don’t know a Stuart Pot.”  


Stuart blushes madly, confused. “Tell him we met at the pub last night, where I was singing.”  


“He says you met at a pub last night. He was singing there?” She looks at Stuart and covers the speaker, whispering. “I don’t know if you really did, but the chances are he won’t remember. You can leave if you need to.”  


Murdoc clears his throat over the line. “Oh, yeah. The singer. Send him back.”  


Both Stuart and the woman look shocked. She hangs up and shrugs. “Alright, go down the hall. His dressing room is the third to the left. His name is on the door.”  


Stuart nods, but suddenly he feels queasy. He makes his way to the door she described, but hesitates before knocking. This plan now seems stupid and naive and he feels as if he’s going to leave here in a couple minutes feeling more embarrassed than he has in a long time. Before his knuckles can hit the wood, the door is open. Murdoc’s face seems to come out of complete darkness, and he pulls Stuart into the room.  


Stuart yelps as he’s haphazardly thrown onto a couch and the door is shut.  


“Hey,” Murdoc greets him without much tone. “Sorry about that. I can’t have anyone suspicious of me, so I had to act like you were just a one-off fuck.”  


Stuart nods, curling up on himself on the couch. “That makes more sense. I was worried you had just been very drunk.”  


“Oh, I was. But not enough to forget about our agreement.” Murdoc slips around the room like a snake, stopping at a small indent in the wall. “Do you want something to drink?”  


Stuart nods, still frightened from the escalation from the situation not even happening to being inside of Murdoc Niccals’ dressing room and on his couch. “Do you have peppermint tea?”  


Murdoc looks at him with confusion. “No. But if you don’t want booze, I have seltzer.”  


Stuart nods. “Thank you.”  


Murdoc is at his side before Stuart has even made the connection that the indent in the wall was a cooler. He hands him a can of seltzer water and grins. The room is so dark that his grin and his eyes glow apart from his face like the chesire cat, and Stuart tries to relax.  


“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Murdoc says, startling Stuart. “I had kind of assumed giving you that cash was my annual act of charity. But hey, I’m not complaining.”  


Stuart tries to open the can he’s been given, but can’t get his finger under the tab. “I admit I debated coming here. More out of nervousness than malice, though.” He coughs. “Also, could you open this for me?”  


The can is taken from his hand and still he cannot see anything, but he hears the click and hiss of it opening and smiles. Blindly, he reaches for it, before it’s placed in his hand.  


“Nervousness? I mean, you sounded pretty nervous when you screamed at me over the phone, but you’ve been much more calm than any other self-proclaimed fan I’ve met.”  


Stuart smiles to himself, although he’s sure that despite the dark Murdoc can see it. He does not tell him that if it weren’t for hours of thinking about this moment last night, he’d probably be drooling. “Trust me, I’m very much on edge right now.”  


Murdoc settles beside him. “If you’re wondering, I’m not going to start you on working for me just yet. I want to see if we can manage working together in the first place, so you can relax.”  


“Oh.”  


“Yeah, we’re just going to talk for now. The deadline for my first sketches isn’t for a month, at least.” Murdoc stands up, and Stuart can only tell from the lack of weight beside him. He swears that it wasn’t so dark before, or perhaps the cooler had a light inside that shone on Murdoc when he had opened it.  


“Okay. That’s better, I think. So it isn’t awkward.”  


The room gets a little lighter, and Stuart looks up from where he had been focused on his drink to see Murdoc at the door, hand on a dimmer switch. “I like it dark. Sometimes I forget other people don’t.” He sits across from Stuart in a large, comfy looking leather chair. It reminds Stuart of the chairs the old men who read children’s books on youth television programs would sit in, but much more regal and fitting for a man like Murdoc. “But yes, I agree with you. I wouldn’t like to have a stranger working for me, no matter how fashionable.”  


Stuart takes that to mean that he did not fail on his quest to replicate the feeling his outfit had projected last night. He takes a sip from his can, and squints as the drink burns his throat. “Do you, um,” He crosses his legs. “Have any certain questions for me, I guess?”  


Murdoc nods. “Not certain questions, but the usual. How old are you and such.”  


Stuart blushes. “I’m nineteen.” He’s ready for a flat out rejection, to be escorted out of the building- when older men hear the word ‘teen’, they either freak out and make him leave or get concerningly more excited.  


Murdoc notices the fear etched into his features. “Hey, old enough to drink, old enough for everything else, eh?” He chuckles.  


Stuart nods, for once feeling that he does not have to justify his maturity in regards to his age to anyone.  


“Hmm,” Murdoc leans back in his chair. “Is there anything you think I need to know?”  


“Well.” Stuart decides to be honest. “For starters, I’m homeless.”  


Murdoc laughs. “Well, clearly. Why do you think I gave you so much money to start?”  


“What?”  


“No one your age with parents in the picture would be looking as dirty as you did last night. No offense, of course. I loved it, but based on my fan base I assumed you were a poor gay teen with unsupportive parents.”  


The accuracy of Murdoc’s statement leaves Stuart in shock. “Bisexual, but yeah, basically. Is it that obvious?”  


“Yes.”  


Stuart feels some resentment in being a trope that Murdoc must see daily, but feels relief that it isn’t a big deal. “By the way, it was my choice to leave. They didn’t kick me out. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to get a job and I might be too stubborn to go back to living there.”  


Murdoc shrugs. “I respect that. My dad was a cunt and now I’m madly successful.” This is made obvious by the large print of one of Murdoc’s more famous photos from one of his older shoots hung right above his head. He’s giving a kind of Blue Steel look- all credits to Zoolander- with less goofiness and more aloofness. Stuart has been trying not to stare at it since Murdoc turned up the lights.  


“My parents weren’t awful. Just very cookie cutter.” Stuart takes a sip of the drink again, and it burns less this time.  


Murdoc nods, and refrains from making a comment about his age having a part in his decision to leave. He’s too desperate now for anyone to get him out of the hole he’s dug himself to have yet another fashionable teen boy leave his dressing room in tears. “Do you regret it?”  


“Not anymore.” He gulps, trying to avoid eye contact with both Murdocs in the room. “I mean, it gave me lots of cool experiences and now I have this opportunity, so I’m pretty satisfied.” He begins to bite his thumbnail. “Also, I have a question.”  


“Go for it,” Murdoc watches him intently. He’s sure that at this point the boy is one hundred percent in on it.  


“Will I be paid by the hour? Or like, how is that going to work?”  


Murdoc grins. He can tell that Stuart Pot won’t be backing out any time soon.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and 2D actually get work done- 2D is having trouble with getting to know his idol in person and staying cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any mistakes in this one it's because my proofreader/the person who gives me validation before I post wasn't able to read this one before I posted it

Murdoc Niccals has, up until recently, never felt stressed or uncomfortable in the modeling community. From the beginning he’s been a star- his grotesque features shone while other models’ eurocentric beauty began to fade out; when he came to light everyone else began to seem like a clone and only his garish face could pull anything off- and now, with the opportunity to become not only a model but a designer as well, his stardom is on a very high and very unstable point. While on one hand, people are more excited to see him than ever and profit off of his shoots has skyrocketed, if he doesn’t execute this well, with as much filth and smut that makes his name have the same household connotations as Miss October, he’ll be ruined.  


He can see it when he closes his eyes, the headlines speaking out about their disappointment in his line- he could never imagine having to drink to forget all of his problems instead of drinking to celebrate his greatness, but imagining the aftermath of such a tragedy leads to a very similar result. Initially meeting with Stuart had been more of an act of desperation than one of trust, and trust still hasn’t had time to build up yet but regardless of how Murdoc feels, he’s put a lot of trust into a meek little boy to capture the raw energy that he needs.  


Luckily for him, Stuart only seems meek when his mouth is open. Or at least, open and talking- his singing voice had led Murdoc to believe that his speaking voice would be as smooth as butter, but instead it’s like a cat scratching a blackboard and a middle-school aged boy going through puberty met up and tried to make music. When he’s quiet or singing, however, he’s beautiful in a way that is unlike the clones Murdoc has to work with, but mainstream enough to be popular on models unlike himself. He doesn’t think it will be difficult to pull off what he needs to, but he’s not sure how Stuart works under high stress. In some dark fantasy of his he imagines putting the boy through some series of strange tests to find out if he’s worthy, something like trapping him next to his biggest fear and seeing if he can handle finding his way out, but instead he’ll just pile loads of work on him and anticipate the crumble.  


After they had discussed payment and talked a little more, Murdoc had told him to meet him at a small pub a few blocks from his agency’s building. He hadn’t wanted the poor boy to get lost, but he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him, and when it comes to pubs, most of the patrons aren’t too up to date on fashion or the like. He had told him eight in the morning. It is seven thirty now, and Murdoc is more than a little unimpressed that the boy isn’t somewhere in the pub waiting anxiously for him to show up, and even more unimpressed that the roles are reversed.  


After a long and dissatisfying fourteen minutes, Stuart enters at seven forty-four with a bright smile. Murdoc recoils, realizing only now that having shown up earlier he seems overeager and the aloof manner he normally holds himself in is ruined. In the moments before the boy walks up to him he decides that pretending it isn’t a big deal would be a much better option than attempting to run now and show up in sixteen minutes. Anyways, he’s not the one who showed up with a huge, dorky smile on his face.  


“Hello Mr. Niccals,” Stuart sits at a stool beside him.  


The name ‘Mr. Niccals’ makes him feel old, and he lets his tongue fall from his mouth in disinterested disgust. “Call me Murdoc or I might choke.”  


Stuart blinks. “Okay, Murdoc.” He gently kicks his feet back and forth against the stool and the bar. “Did you have any plans for what we needed to work on today?”  


Murdoc sighs. “Not really. I was hoping you had been thinking up a storm all last night.”  


Stuart had, but not about fashion designs. He had, very shamefully, been thinking about Murdoc all night. He can’t be blamed, though! The man is a model, and there was no way that Stuart could have fathomed how Murdoc would be in real life, outside of all the shoots and interviews. At the risk of sounding like a complete fanboy, Stuart finds his humanity admirable, or, more, the fact that he’s human. After a small pause, Stuart shakes his head. “No, I was actually confused on what kind of clothing line this was supposed to be. Like, are people actually going to be wearing this stuff? Or is it just for a catwalk?” He had brainstormed some things to ask, of course, in case he needs to do actual work.  


“I’d hope it be a little of both. Some more avant-garde pieces for the catwalk to demonstrate what it’s all about, then clothing for the masses.” His features harden as he realizes that he’s in the presence of a member of the masses. “I mean, clothing that people are more likely to wear on a daily basis.”  


Stuart nods. “Okay.” He’s finding it more and more difficult to discuss what Murdoc wants out of this without gushing about his appearance. “So, I was thinking we could, um,” It is also difficult to talk about these things without sounding snobby. “Kind of, harness some of the qualities people think of when they hear your name? Like, we could make it really lewd and revealing for the most part, with lots of ripped clothing and purposeful stains maybe.”  


Murdoc nods. “Don’t be afraid to say anything.” He can feel Stuart’s restraint. “You won’t make a fool of yourself.”  


From all of the photos he’d drooled over in his childhood and even months ago, he’d never pegged Murdoc for the reassuring and warm type. He’d always fantasized of the man as someone who would treat him like dirt if they ever met, spit in his face and make him shine his shoes, but he assumes that this unfitting kindness is solely out of desperation for Stuart to stay. Either way, it’s much nicer than what he had been expecting, and if it begins to fade as they get more comfortable, he won’t be too upset. “Well, we could also try and draw from your more regal side. I was imagining like, if a king got mugged.” His breath hitches as he gets more excited. He’s making all of this up as he opens his mouth, but it doesn’t sound half bad. “We could have your models slowly getting more disheveled as the show goes on, like a spectrum from the most regal to the most, uh, crack whore.”  


Funnily enough, Murdoc has no qualms over being compared to a crack whore. “I like it. We could have incredibly stylized outfits that no one in their right mind would ever wear outside of a red carpet event, and then have downplayed versions that a normal person might wear, and roughed up versions that only edgy teens like yourself would wear.” He nods to himself. “Appealing to all of the masses.”  


Stuart does not consider red carpet frequenters to be a part of the masses, but he nods along anyways. “We could start sketching up some ideas soon, if you wanted.”  


“Yeah, we can. I have an official meeting with some artists and developers tomorrow.”  


“I thought you said sketches weren’t due for months?”  


“Oh,” Murdoc chuckles harshly, and Stuart begins to wonder if any sound that comes from his mouth can ever be soft. “That was more of an, ‘the last possible date I can turn in sketches is in a few months and after that I’ll be in trouble,’ sort of thing. I’m glad we’ve gotten some ideas already.”  


Stuart coughs out a laugh. He had never suspected the man of being so much of a mess. “It’s a good thing, then. Do you, um, need me to be there to help you with actual designs?”  


Murdoc’s eyes widen. “Shit.” He runs his nails over the side of his face in distress. “I do, but I don’t want anyone knowing I’m getting help.”  


“Oh, you’re right.” He bites his lip, and begins to pick at the skin around his fingernails.  


Murdoc sighs, and taps his fingers against the bar counter. “I could always pretend that you’re my new fling,” He grins uncomfortably. “So I can take you into meetings.”  


“You take your flings into meetings? What if they steal your ideas?” He pouts, although he’s not sure why someone like Murdoc wouldn’t have arm candy every waking second.  


“Trust me, they don’t pay attention to the meetings.” He smirks, pulling a cigarette from the front pocket of his pants. He lights it, making a point not to blow into Stuart’s face.  


Stuart blushes. “Yeah,” He clears his throat. “Can I have a smoke?”  


Murdoc nods and hands him a cigarette, lighting it when he holds it. “You’re okay with that?”  


“Huh?”  


“With pretending to be my new fling?”  


Stuart blinks.  


“For the meeting, so you can help me.” Murdoc looks at him with confusion.  


Stuart remembers just now that his idol is not asking him to pretend to be his boyfriend in public but is using an excuse to get him to do a job. “Oh! Yeah, it’s cool. If it’ll work,” He looks around the empty pub. “Is smoking… allowed in here?”  


Murdoc shrugs. “For me, yeah. And you’re with me.”  


Stuart has never felt like such a VIP. He grins and puffs from his cigarette, convinced now that there are many more benefits to this job than just the money. “So, when do I get to the meeting tomorrow?” He asks in an attempt to avoid the feeling he gets from being treated so specially.  


“We’ll meet up before it and go there together,” He says, breathing out a puff of smoke and leaning back in his chair. “Most of the people I’m with aren’t,” He chuckles. “Clever enough to find their way around.”  


The next day at around noon, a limousine pulls in front of the Premier Inn that Murdoc had made Stuart give him the address for. When Stuart gets in, he’s half expecting a mob boss to be sitting in the back seat with him instead of Murdoc.  


“This is very,” He hesitates. “Excessive.”  


Murdoc looks at him with a lack of amusement. “I wasn’t going to pick you up in a Mazda,” He scoffs.  


Immediately upon entering the conference room Stuart feels like not only he, but Murdoc as well, is out of place. There are three other men in the room, all dressed smartly and none of them speaking to one another. When they enter, all three of the men look at Murdoc, and then pointedly at Stuart until Murdoc wraps an arm around his waist- to which they immediately disregard him.  


“Men,” Murdoc grins toothlessly, sitting down in a chair across from where the three sit together. Stuart begins to sit beside him until he grunts, gesturing to Stuart with his eyes that he should sit in his lap instead; he sits in Murdoc’s lap with embarrassment. “Sorry for being late.”  


The smallest man shrugs, sitting up and resting his elbows on the table. “We’re used to it by now, Mr. Niccals. Do you have any ideas this time?”  


Murdoc disregards the blatant annoyance in the man’s tone. “I do.”  


The man brightens up. “You do?”  


“Yes.” He straightens up under Stuart’s weight. “I haven’t written anything down, because that’s your job, but yes.”  


“Well?”  


Murdoc clears his throat, attempting some level of professionalism. “I was thinking, for the catwalk, we could start with some avant-garde designs.”  


“What were you thinking for that?”  


Murdoc gives him a blank and irritated stare. “Regal- royal, almost. Lots of metallics and flowing fabrics.”  


The small man starts making notes and one of the ones that sits farther back begins to sketch.  


“I want an off-the-shoulder cape on one model and a mesh, knee-length skirt on another.” He leans back, spitballing off the top of his head.  


Stuart begins to wonder if he truly needed to be here when Murdoc rests his chin on his shoulder and whispers, “What had we been talking about?”  


Stuart has no idea how to mask a whisper without the men noticing, so he speaks up. “Weren’t you telling me about a more… rugged side to your designs,” He clears his throat. “Baby?” His voice cracks.  


Murdoc nods. “Yeah, um. I want a darker side to the designs. I want rips and purposeful stains.” He hums. “Very tight fitting.”  
For the rest of the meeting, Stuart feigns beautiful stupidity to help Murdoc achieve less of a big picture and more close details. By the end of it, there are a few designs actually drawn, and the men seem much less distressed than before.  


When everyone stands up, Stuart struggles out of Murdoc’s lap and hides behind him as everyone else shakes hands.  


“Thank you for actually being productive today, Mr. Niccals.”  


Murdoc’s grip is tight. “Of course. You just needed to give me a little time.”  


The three men file out of the room and leave Stuart and Murdoc alone.  


“That went well,” Stuart says.  


“Yeah it did,” Murdoc agrees. “Baby.” He smirks, sitting in the closest chair and making himself comfortable. “Sorry for making you sit in my lap, by the way.” He shrugs. “I had to make it believable.”  


Stuart shakes his head. “No, um, it was okay.”  


Murdoc grins. “Of course it was, I’m beautiful.” He stands up. “Anyways, thanks for the help- also, get an apartment or something. I’d rather mail you checks than continue giving you cash like this.” The cash comes out, and into Stuart’s hand. “It’s shady, and I’m shady, but you’re making me feel like more of a failure.”  


Stuart’s eyes widen and he begins to stutter, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,”  


Murdoc waves a hand before him. “I was kidding. It’s just suspicious, having a limo pick someone up from a hotel.”  


“Then get a Mazda,”  


Murdoc scowls. “Get an apartment.” He says, and stands up, leaving Stuart in the conference room.  


Stuart follows him as quickly as he can so as to avoid getting lost. “You aren’t leaving me here?”  


Murdoc smirks as the elevator doors begin to close before Stuart can make it. “Of course not. It’s for dramatic effect.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D meets up with a few old friends now that he's got more money. He goes to visit Murdoc, and sees something he didn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to make Noodle the same age as 2D but with the way the rest of the characters ages are she would have been 6 or 7 and it would have been weird forgive me

It takes Stuart longer than he’d like to admit to either of them to contact his old friends once he gets some money. He sits in a small and bright coffee shop, a much needed break from dark and dreary pubs, and snuggles into a warm sweater he’d found on the clearance rack at a thrift shop near his hotel. The warmth reminds him of the friends he’s waiting on, and because of it he nearly got a hot cocoa when ordering, but he’d been craving some peppermint tea and got some of that instead. He doesn’t spend much time alone, but the time that he does is for once not spent anxiously- at first, he’d been nervous that his friends might not want to see him, but after hearing their voices over the hotel’s landline, he is confident that they are just as excited as him.  


In only a few minutes, familiar faces show up at the door, and Stuart’s own shines with a smile. “Noodle!” He stands from his seat, ignoring the customers who look at him in confusion.  


Noodle, a teen slightly younger than him but bounds more beautiful, smiles and rushes across the cafe to envelop him in a tight hug. “Hi, 2D.” She grins up at him and releases him from the hug.  


He quickly grabs the plastic cup his tea came in and holds it close to his chest. He eyes Russel from across the room. “Do you want to sit outside?”  
She nods, taking one of his wrists to lead him to a small table outside of the cafe, where Russel is already sitting.  


“Hello, Russ!” Stuart smiles from across the table. As excited as he’s been to spend time with Murdoc, he’s much more excited to be here.  


“Hey, ‘D.” Stuart had met Russel at a concert a few years ago. He’d been there for a very small band that was opening for the main one, and Russ had been there for the other openers. They’d talked while the main band played and Stuart had learned a lot about America and how scary it is there- Russel’s friends had all died and he’d been sent to the UK to live with his uncle, for his own safety. Stuart isn’t entirely sure why Russel enjoys his company (he’s pretty sure it’s only because Noodle enjoys spending time around him), but he always appreciates his advice when they talk. “Where’ve you been, man?”  


Stuart takes a sip of his tea. “Well, you guys know how I decided to move out when I turned eighteen,” He says. “It didn’t work out,” He chuckles. “But I was too nervous to ask to move back in.”  


Noodle frowns. She and Stuart had talked about this over the phone, but it still hurts her to think that he’d been on the streets without the help of his friends.  


“But I have a job now!” He exclaims, seeing Noodle’s frown out of the corner of his eye. “I’m going to start looking for a flat soon.”  


Noodle perks up. “You could move in with us!” She suggests.  


Russel nods. “We have an extra room.”  


This is something that Stuart believes wholeheartedly. He had always known that at least two of the three of them would end up moving in together once Noodle graduated. 

“You mean it? I have the money for rent, I promise.”  


“We believe you,” Russel reassures him. He reaches across the table and pats Stuart’s forearm with his large hand. “Anyways, tell us about your job.”  


Stuart blushes at the mention of his job. “It’s kind of a secret,” He mutters, “But I can trust you guys, right?”  


First the mention of homelessness and now the mention of a “secret” job, and both friends are nervous. Instead of nodding a yes to his question, they both look at him in horror.  


“I’m going to take that as a yes- it’s not that bad, really.” He holds up his hands in defense. “I only say secret because, well… it is one, but it’s not a bad one- for me.” He smiles. “So, I work for Murdoc Niccals!”  


Both Noodle and Russel groan. Throughout most of their friendship, all Stuart had talked about was how much he admired the nasty man. “What are you, an assistant at his agency?” Russel asks.  


“No,” Stuart looks hurt. “I’m his,” He lowers his voice, perhaps for dramatic effect (a tip he’s taken from Murdoc, in hopes that his friends will gain interest), “well, I don’t know. There’s not a name for it.” He is loudly whispering now. “I’m helping him make his new clothing line,”  


Noodle looks at him with surprise. “Directly? Or are you a part of some secret help team?”  


Russel runs a hand over his face, exhausted already, but he continues to listen.  


“Directly! It’s like we’re friends,” He gushes- it’s not, but he imagines that he’s closer to Murdoc than most people already. “We’ve spoken just one-on-one at least four times, and the other day, I sat on his lap!”  


Noodle raises an eyebrow. “You what?”  


“Oh, it was so no one suspected me of helping him,” He waves his hand in front of his face. “But it still happened. It was wonderful.” Stuart is practically swooning, his pupils nearly turning to hearts.  


Russel sighs. “Stu,” He starts. “He’s a famous model. Don’t get a crush on a famous model. If he’s paying you, he’s not into you.”  


This is one of the seldom times that Stuart really struggles to take Russel’s advice to heart. “I know, but it was still nice. And speaking of nice, he’s really nice! I thought he would be mean, and he’s not like, sweet or anything, but he isn’t as evil as he looks.”  


“He doesn’t want you to quit, ‘D.”  


“I know that,” He pouts. “But all I’ll say is that it’s a very nice job.”  


Noodle smiles. “I’m glad you’re happy, 2D, but you should be careful.” She crosses her legs. “Famous people don’t really care about nonfamous feelings. Try not to get too attached to him.”  


Stuart scoffs. “It’s just the same celebrity crush I’ve had for years. It’ll probably go away once I get to know him!”  


Both Noodle and Russel look at him with pitying disbelief.  


Moving in is easier than anyone had expected it to be- Stuart had thought that he’d bought an entire new wardrobe, but it turns out he’s only bought enough clothing to convince Murdoc he’s a fashion genius for a week. He brings a bag of clothes (and the ones on his back) to Russel and Noodle’s shared flat almost immediately- he has nothing to wait for, after all- and all moving in takes is putting his clothes into the empty dresser in his new room.  


The room is very small. With the bed and dresser in it, it is about the size of a closet, and Stuart is glad that he’s so skinny so he can maneuver around. Regardless, he’s glad to have a more permanent place to stay than a cheap hotel- that actually got really expensive after a few nights- and a place with his friends, too. After he takes a nap- or two- he decides that he has to tell Murdoc that he’s actually gotten a flat in a decent time, and he can’t find Noodle or Russel (who knows how long he slept?), so he heads out to the only place he knows where to find Murdoc- the agency.  


When he gets there, which was not difficult due to the knowledge of taxi drivers, he walks right up to Cindy. “Hello,”  


“Hello,” She replies. She’s much nicer when one doesn’t look like riff-raff and has an actual, documented purpose. “Mr. Niccals went home around an hour ago.”  


Stuart frowns. “Oh, okay.” He begins planning his trek home, but Cindy stops him.  


“I have his address. He told me to give it to you if you ever came by and needed it.”  


Stuart perks up. “He did?”  


Cindy smirks. “You know, he hasn’t done that for any of his romantic interests before. You should feel pretty special.”  


He knows it isn’t because of any kind of romantic involvement, but he feels special anyways. “Thank you,” He giggles.  


Cindy writes down his address on a post-it. When he takes it, he holds back the urge to freak out. Going to his longtime idol’s house is something he never imagined would happen. He thanks Cindy one more time and leaves, catching a taxi to Murdoc’s place. He would feel creepy, entirely so for going to the man’s house or flat or wherever he lives on a day they hadn’t planned on meeting at a relatively late time, but he reassures himself with the knowledge that this information has been given to him willingly.  
By the time he gets to what turns out to be Murdoc’s penthouse, it’s around ten at night. Not too late, but still enough for Stuart to get embarrassed as he’s knocking on the door. When the door opens, a beautiful woman’s face shows up instead of the green one Stuart was expecting.  


So much for what Cindy said about being special.  


“Can I help you?” Her voice is deep and sounds southern American. When she had opened the door initially, she had only shown her face, and when she opens the door all the way to reveal a bathrobe that is just now being tied closed, he realizes why.  


“Um, I think I have the wrong address. Does Murdoc Niccals live here?”  


She smiles. “Oh, honey. You must be gay, huh?”  


He looks at her in confusion, before she gestures to an embroidery of MN on the fabric above her breast.  


“Oh. Um,” He squeaks. “Can I speak to him?”  


“Of course, sweetheart! Come in,” She smiles and moves out of the way so he can enter. “Sit anywhere you like, I’ll go get him.”  


He nods, and takes a seat on a large, white leather couch. He makes himself as small as possible. The penthouse is clearly Murdoc’s. It resembles the dressing room nearly exactly, the only difference being the colour scheme- this is black and white, while his dressing room is a variety of purples. A part of him feels sick to his stomach at the thought of that woman, not because he feels that one fake moment made Murdoc his property, but because despite all of Murdoc’s mentions of countless sexual escapades with hookers and random pickups alike, he had always kind of hoped that Murdoc made himself untouchable to everyone.  


After a couple of minutes, a wet Murdoc comes out from a doorway that Stuart had not even noticed. He’s wearing only a towel draped over his hips, and Stuart feels even sicker.  


He stands up and clears his throat. “Hey, um, I just wanted to tell you that I did what you wanted and I got an apartment and I wanted you to have the address before I forgot to give it to you,” He blurts, trying to get the words out as fast as possible. “And the woman behind the counter Cindy gave me your address I assumed it was okay,”  


Murdoc rubs his temples, groaning. “Hey, calm down. Hell,” He sighs. “Get out of a nice hot shower and immediately you’re cramming all that stress right back onto my shoulders.”  


“Sorry,” Stuart rubs his arm with nervousness. “I wanted to get out of your hair as soon as possible.”  


“It’s fine, mate.” He rubs his forehead, and the woman comes up from behind him to wrap her arms around his bicep. “C’mon, come this way and give me your address.”  


“Okay,” He follows behind Murdoc and the woman, and they lead him to the kitchen.  


Murdoc rummages through a cabinet while the woman whose name Stuart still has not caught rubs his muscle and coos. He stands far away from them, trying to mask his discomfort to avoid any awkwardness at their next scheduled meeting, but failing miserably. Murdoc tosses a notepad to him, and then a pen.  


“Just write it down.”  


Stuart has to move closer to use the kitchen counter as a writing surface. He writes his new address down, and he’s actually proud of himself for remembering it without struggle.  


“Do you have a phone number, now, too?”  


“Um, I have the landline at the flat. Is that okay?”  


Murdoc nods.  


He begins to write it down, knowing it only due to the fact that Noodle had told him all of the details over and over again as he was falling asleep on the couch. When he’s done, which is an uncomfortably long amount of time later- ever since his wreck his handwriting has been chicken scratch, and he tries very hard to avoid anything that might be hard to read- he sets down the pen and forces a smile.  


“Okay! Um, I’ll see you later, Murdoc. And, uh, I’ll try to call before coming over next time.” He coughs and starts to walk out of the kitchen, clenching his fists in prayer that neither of the people in the kitchen say anything that might make him stay longer.  


“See ya, Stuart.”  


He nods, and escapes from his own personal hell as fast possible.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and 2D talk about what happened last night.

Murdoc had not meant for Stuart to see anything. When he had given Cindy his address he had not anticipated Stuart would actually need it, or have the confidence to use it. Doubly so he did not believe that it would be put in use so soon, and he’s grateful that the boy came knocking when he did and not a few minutes earlier. Just the look on his face as he wrote down his new address was a red flag that Murdoc might not need it any longer.  


“What’s wrong, honey?” The woman he’d picked up from a pub on the way home comes behind him and wraps her arms around his neck.  


He should have known not pick up a woman with a spray tan and a southern accent. They always get so clingy, and he knows that they know it’s just for a night, but physical contact is something he only likes in the spur of the moment and, on occasion, to look good in public. “That kid was a,” He wonders what he could call him without demeaning all of the work he’s helped him with to mere “assistance”. “A coworker of mine.”  


She gets giggly. “Another model? He was a little young, but I can see it.”  


Murdoc scowls. “No, not a model.” He shrugs her off. The thought of such a weak person modeling irritates him- even if the boy has the body and the face, Murdoc does not doubt that he’d shy away in front of the camera. “One of the behind the scenes types.” He’s a little proud of that- not entirely a lie.  


The woman gets less excited. “Oh.”  


Murdoc can feel his eyebrow beginning to twitch, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Could you,” He waves his hand in the direction of the bedroom. “Get dressed and leave? I didn’t want him to see that and I’m not in the mood right now.”  


She nods. One good thing about all the women he brings home is that not a single one has ever gotten the wrong idea. They all leave when he asks without even a whine. Part of him would take it as criticism to his performance in bed, but everything else before he asks them to leave leads him to believe he’s fine in that department. Once the woman leaves, he trudges into his room and sees his robe lying on the bed. He’ll have to clean that. He grabs it and tosses it aside on his way to the dresser, before throwing on his brooding suit.  


He usually doesn’t wear suits unless he has to, because most of them are too bland for his tastes, but this one is strictly for sulking. Which is what he plans to do. In recent weeks, sulking has been a big part of his agenda. Sulking over his inevitable downfall, sulking over the wrinkle he thought he’d seen in the mirror while brushing his teeth once, and now sulking over the fact that his reputation to his biggest fan is most likely in shambles. He knows that there is no explaining to do- Stuart knows what he saw- but he feels as if actually seeing it and only hearing about it are very different things.  


Nonetheless, he thinks he handled it quite well. He wasn’t too aloof, but he wasn’t obviously embarrassed. He only hopes the boy wasn’t too intensely burned by his lack of empathy. So much for the nice approach. After this, he assumes he’ll just have to be himself around the poor boy- grumpy, cruel, and self-absorbed. He doesn’t let himself get down about it- it lasted long enough and it wasn’t going to last forever anyways. It was a valiant effort on his part, and the boy should be grateful he even tried to be civil.  


Enough of the sulking suit already. It never lasts more than a few minutes on him, and even takes longer to put on than he sits in it. Stress and sorrow only lead to less beauty.  


The next day is a scheduled meeting that had been set to happen at another seedy bar, but Murdoc doesn’t feel like making any efforts to leave his penthouse and gives Stuart’s flat a ring a few hours before scheduled time.  


A young girl answers. “Hello?”  


Murdoc smirks. He’s glad the boy wasn’t too hurt, and got some even with the uncomfortable events of last night. “Could you tell Stuart to meet me at my apartment instead of where we planned?” His voice is smooth, something that he’s noticed only happens when he’s trying to get something he wants.  


“Will do. Is that all?”  


“Yeah,” Murdoc hangs up. He wonders what kind of bang answers the landline, and nearly considers that Stuart moved in with some kind of girlfriend, but then he remembers that last night he was not the one who opened the door, and discards the possibility.  


When Stuart knocks on the door this time, he’s actually prepared and dressed. He opens the door to a boy with a less excited look on his face than usual, and waves him in without a word. This time he does not offer him something to drink. Attempting to soften the blow will only make things worse, he thinks.  


“So,” Stuart starts. “I brought some paper and stuff so we can sketch without that guy’s help this time. I’ve also been drawing a bit for the past couple of days, if you want to look.”  


Right to business. This is how Murdoc had been hoping it would be way back when, before three men had quit due to an unfriendly work environment.  


“I’ll take it.” He says, and Stuart pulls what looks like a dollar store sketchbook from a messenger bag Murdoc didn’t even notice he’d been carrying.  


“The sketches are pretty awful,”  


He’s right. They’re rudimentary, but they get the point across.  


“So on the backs of each one I wrote a little description of what they are.”  


Murdoc flips the papers over, and sees scribbly handwriting that he can read only because his own is awful. As terrible as the presentation is, he’s impressed with the ideas. From the most simple ideas- a royal purple tee with little gold crowns spattered around it and mesh material in place of cotton over the heart, for example- to things that look as if they’d come right from Murdoc’s head, like the nine inch heels with spikes all up the bottom that get longer closer to the back of the foot to create a heel instead of a single high heel. Murdoc hums in approval. “Some of these are very drag.”  


Stuart nods. “Sometimes it seems like you might have a drag period in your career so I used that.”  


Murdoc tosses the sketchpad to the side, letting it land on a small table beside his couch, which he then waltzes to and sits down on.  


“Um-”  


Murdoc turns to look at the boy who stands uncomfortably in his foyer. “You can sit.”  


Stuart scurries to do so. He’d been anxious that the night before would change everything and he sees now that he’d been right in that feeling. “I’m sorry, again, about last night.”  


“What’s there to be sorry about?” He asks.  


“If it embarrassed you or you thought I might not want to work for you anymore. I just wanted to leave so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.”  


Murdoc shakes his head, feeling no need to be unnecessarily nice anymore. “It wasn’t uncomfortable for me. You know my lifestyle. The chances of you coming around at a time that that wasn’t happening were very little.”  


Stuart nods. He still feels sick, and wishes that Murdoc would take another look at his sketches just to avoid this conversation. “Do you want to look at those sketches again? I know I’m just doing them for you and we aren’t really discussing them, but do you want to make sure you like them?”  


“Sure,” He grabs the sketches, and starts flipping through the ones he hadn’t looked at. He doesn’t want to admit it, but they’re all practically perfect. “Go get me a pen,”  


Stuart nods, getting up and going to the only place he’d seen a pen- the kitchen. The way there is paved with paintings of Murdoc and usually he’d be enamored to see them, but at the moment they feel like they’re staring at him with mock and judgement and he tries to put on his blinders on his way. He hadn’t the night before, only because he knew that if it were done he’d have ended up passed out in a pool of his own sick somewhere in the city, but he decides now that once he leaves the penthouse he’s going to go and drink. Finding a pen is easy, as the one from last night is still sitting on the counter, and he grabs it and returns to Murdoc before his legs give out on him.  


“I just need to make a few changes.” Murdoc begins scribbling away with the pen, and does not tell Stuart what he’s changing- it isn’t in his place to ask, anyways.  


Stuart sits now on a chair across from the couch, once again trying to make himself as small as possible. “I was wondering,”  


Murdoc grunts for him to go on.  


“How many designs do you need, exactly?”  


“Not very many. Usually there are around ten to twelve, but given different colour schemes you could at least double that.” He looks up at Stuart and wishes he wouldn’t sit like that on a chair that demands confidence. “We probably need around four designs from each category we were talking about.”  


Stuart nods. That shouldn’t be too hard for him. He wonders why all struggling teens don’t design their own clothes, only to remember that not everyone has a name that can sell anything backing them. “Okay. And, um, after we send the designs to your guys, will you need me to do anything else?”  


“Not for a while. If this ends up successful I’ll tell you when the show is, and you can come to it, and then I’ll need your help for all of the interviews.”  


It seems that all of Stuart’s hopes for this job and the friendship he once thought might stem from it are dissolving in front of him. “Okay.” He had thought that perhaps there was more to it than this, but once again he hadn’t taken Murdoc’s status into account. He probably only needed to come up with the designs and the rest would be taken care of.  


Murdoc looks at the pout on his face and realizes that Stuart’s mood is making his own falter. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he breaks his own rule. “You could always model. One of the designs, I mean. During the show. You can pick your favorite one and do it.”  


Stuart’s entire face lights back up to the way Murdoc is used to. “Really?”  


“Yeah.”  


“Will you be modeling, too?”  


“Probably not. But I’ll be backstage, so I’ll help you if you need it.” He can’t help the word vomit coming from his mouth. He hopes that this is only so the boy will stop depressing him.  


Stuart nods excitedly. “Also,” He clears his throat, trying to hide his excitement. “If we get the designs in sooner, can we do the show sooner?”  


Murdoc groans, unsure. “It depends. If we get things done immediately the show can probably happen around the time I had anticipated we’d get sketches sent in. But in a couple of weeks most likely not.”  


Stuart nods. “Okay.”  


“I hadn’t thought you’d be such a fast worker.”  


“I have nothing else to do.”  


Their meeting ends a little after that, and Stuart decides that he still wants to go out for a drink. At this point, he’s not sure if it’s because his friends had been right that Murdoc is just a model and just because they’ve met that he won’t immediately fall for him, or out of celebration that he might get to model somewhere significant. He orders a drink at the pub closest to Murdoc’s apartment and wonders what the next few months will consist of now that he knows he won’t have to spend too much longer with Murdoc and the many floozies he’ll probably have around now that they’ve crossed that uncomfortable boundary. Once he gets his drink, however, he decides against worrying about it, and wonders why he never listened to the people who say never meet your heroes.  


Meanwhile, Murdoc decides that his usual grumpy self is hard to maintain when it causes the boy he has to be around absolute misery, and, while looking at the sketches that he’s trying to turn into actual outfits, attempts to develop a plan of action for the next weeks he’ll have to be around him.  


First of all, cruel isn’t going to cut it. It just makes things uncomfortable and hard to work around. Second of all, the answer to cruelty’s failure is not blurting anything to get that pout off of his face. Thirdly, he can’t have anyone over to his place anymore. And finally, he’s got to break it to the boy that in order to have him around the people he works with more than once, they’ve got to convince everyone that they’re together, and that he’s so special Murdoc wants him around longer than it takes to get him home in the limo.  


The finally is the hardest part. Clearly the boy had been fine with pretending once, but after everything went to shit because of Murdoc’s uncontrollable libido, he’s not sure it’ll be so easy.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuart and Murdoc must fake romantic attraction for a future purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all I'm sorry I didn't post earlier I went to the concert in Philly on the 13th and then I had a friend over because of that but hey it was a gorillaz concert you can't blame me

When Stuart gets home from his most recent meeting with Murdoc, he’s more drunk than his sober self had planned to be. His legs worked only enough for him to get into the taxi, and then got prickly and didn’t seem to do what his brain tried to tell them. After stumbling out of the backseat, he’s grateful that the flat is on the first floor. He knocks on the door a few times (he must have forgotten his keys somewhere, or he isn’t sure how to work his pockets right now), and Noodle answers.  


“2D?” She asks.  


“Hi, sorry, I didn’t know how to get in,” He says, his voice slurred just enough to make his words uncomfortable to discern.  


She frowns with pity. “Okay.” She moves to the side and lets him in.  


He moves forward and manages to make his way to the couch, plopping himself onto it. “Where’s Russel?” He asks, looking at his sneakers and moving his feet around to a rhythm.  


“He’s asleep, 2D.”  


Stuart nods. “That makes sense.”  


Noodle sits on the arm of the couch, patting Stuart’s shins. “I’m guessing your meeting with Murdoc didn’t go well?” She sighs.  


“No, it did.” He grins. “I’m going to be a model for his show. And at first he was mean to me but then he got nicer again.” He twiddles his thumbs. “I think he feels bad for last night.”  


Noodle has heard all about last night. Last night, Stuart was not so drunk but he was much more distraught. He’d whined and whined like he’d walked in on a boyfriend cheating and not his famous boss with a random woman he had every right to be with. “He better, or I’d think he has no morals whatsoever.”  


“Well, he has another meeting with his,” Stuart struggles to think of the word. “His dudes, tomorrow. And that means I have to go and help him talk about the sketches, which means I have to pretend to date him again.” He giggles. “Not that I have any problem with it.”  


Noodle purses her lips. “Stu,” She rubs his shin. “You really need to stop hoping with him.”  


Stuart shakes his head. “I am not hoping!” He crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s just nice to pretend.” He hums, and Noodle sees his heart eyes again.  


“I’m not going to stop you, but I warned you just now, and when you were sober.” She stands from her spot on the arm of the couch. “I’m going to go to bed, make sure you fall asleep lying on your stomach, goodnight!” She walks to her bedroom and leaves him to daydream (and pass out) alone.  


The next morning’s hangover is hell. Not only does his head hurt, but his stomach churns, and when he stands up from the sofa his legs feel heavy and stiff. He groans, and walks his way to the single bathroom in the apartment. When he tries the door, it’s locked.  


“Uhh,” He grumbles. “Hey-”  


Russel grunts from behind the door. “‘D, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”  


“I just need some pain pills, could you hand them to me?”  


“My hands are a little full.”  


Stuart scrunches up his face. He thinks he knows what that means, but he’s not sure, so he makes a note to ask Murdoc if they can pick some up whenever he comes by for the meeting. He debates offering to pay him for it, but all of his profit comes directly from him and that would be like asking him to take nine pounds out of his next paycheck. Maybe he’ll do it anyways. He heads to his bedroom to sleep on something that can actually contain his size, but as he lies down he sees the small alarm clock beside his bed and realizes Murdoc will be here to pick him up in less than an hour. He feels like a sim, running around everywhere to try and fulfill everyday needs, but regardless he gets up and makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If he’s going to ask the man he has a rather uncomfortable relationship with to pay for his meds then he should avoid asking him to get him lunch, too.  


As he’s biting into lightly toasted bread, the phone begins to ring. No one else seems to be getting it, so beside the fact that Stuart doubts it will be for him, he picks up.  


“Hello?” He answers, the word barely sounding like anything at all because of the food in his mouth.  


“Stuart?”  


He swallows. “Yes?”  


“I’m outside. Come out, and wear something sleazy.”  


“Uhh,” Stuart bites his pinkie nail. “Give me a second?” He hangs up. He hasn’t bought anything sleazy yet. Due to lack of a better idea, he knocks cautiously on Noodle’s bedroom door.  


He gets no answer. Gently, he pushes it open, and the room is empty. She must be at work or something. He would never in a million years call Noodle sleazy, but he imagines that clothing that fits her well must look skimpy on himself, and begins to dig through her dresser. The entire time, he hopes that Russel does not come in to find him accidentally digging through her underwear drawer, but he finds a shirt- what must be a normal tee on Noodle but is a crop top on himself- and small shorts. Grateful that his legs and waist are so small, he pulls the outfit on and tosses his old clothes in his room on the way out. He’ll explain to Noodle where her clothes went when he gets home.  


As he walks out the door, he grabs his sandwich and continues to eat. The cool wind against the bare skin of his stomach makes him feel mildly insecure, and the breeze blowing his leg hairs into disarray is an unusual feeling, but he roughs it for the thirty second walk to the limo.  


The door opens for him, and greeting him is a grotesque face.  


“Good afternoon, Murdoc.” His voice is slightly off from the peanut butter between his gums and lips.  


“Hey- don’t bring that in here.” Murdoc looks at the crumbs falling from the sandwich and onto the sidewalk. “Finish it quick, we have somewhere to be.”  


Stuart nods and scarfs it down, wiping his mouth with his forearm and stepping into the limo. Murdoc scoots to make space for him, and immediately when Stuart gets comfortable, he wraps his arm around his shoulder. “Did I ever introduce you to my chauffeur, Stu?”  


Stuart has never heard Murdoc shorten his name. He tries to remember whatever Noodle had told him the night before, but the warmth from his arm around him is such a contrast to the air outside and the comfort of the leather seat he sinks into creates such a mood that he can’t help feeling his cheeks go pink.  


“No, you haven’t.” He looks at the rearview mirror for reference to this chauffeur’s appearance, and sees that he is looking back at them quizzically. Nervously, he scoots closer to Murdoc until one side of his uncovered mid drift is being brushed against by soft and thin fabric.  


“His name is Chip. He doesn’t talk much, but he’ll open the door for you on the way out.” Murdoc makes eye contact with Chip through the mirror. “Maybe he’ll pick you up without me sometime.”  


“Nice to meet you, Chip.”  


“Could you put up the sound barrier and get us going already?”  


Chip presses a button and a highly tinted piece of glass elevates from the space between the back and the front. Once it’s all the way up, Murdoc detaches himself from Stuart and leans against the opposite door.  


“But Murdoc-”  


“He can’t see or hear us anymore. What’s the point?”  


Stuart nods. “Oh, I wasn’t sure if he could see.” He feels cold again, and as much as he’d like to avoid the inevitable, Murdoc’s embrace was a comfort his migraine greatly appreciated. “I know we might be running late but can we please stop somewhere and grab some painkillers for me?”  


Murdoc looks at him with boredom. “Over the counter or prescription?”  


“Over the counter. I haven’t had time to get a prescription yet but I really-  


Murdoc pulls him by the wrist until Stuart is on top of him. He looks at him in confusion.  


“Rest your head on my chest, idiot. I have to put down the barrier to ask him to stop.”  


Stuart realizes the logic behind the situation and nods, resting his head on his chest and closing his eyes. His heartbeat is calm and steady, something that tells Stuart he isn’t as thrilled to be so close.  


“Chip. Stop at a market. We need painkillers.”  


Stuart’s comfort isn’t even interrupted by Murdoc’s voice. After years of silent photographs, a voice to the face is a treasure.  


There’s a whirring sound from the barrier and Murdoc is pushing Stuart off of him. That is something that disturbs his comfort, but something he’ll inevitably get used to.  


“You chose well,” Murdoc says.  
“What?”  


“Outfits. I wouldn’t call it sleazy but for you, it might be. I didn’t know you were so pale everywhere.”  


Stuart blushes, tempted to bite back. And he does. “You haven’t seen everywhere.”  


Murdoc chuckles. “You’re not leaving much to the imagination, and mine can fill in the blanks.”  


In any other circumstances being spoken to like that would either make Stuart very uncomfortable or very heated up, but hearing them from Murdoc, he knows that there’s no meaning behind it, that it’s just friendly banter. “Am I going out to get the pills when we get there?”  


“Of course not. If anyone sees that hair of yours and then sees you with me some other time, they’ll memorize my plates.”  


That makes sense. “We have to do this in public?” Stuart considers himself a pretty good actor for pulling off the annoyance in his voice at that moment.  


“Obviously. It wouldn’t be convincing for anyone I work with that I wouldn’t use a piece of arm candy as a way to spread rumors and build hype for the new line.”  


“What kind of rumors?” Stuart asks. He imagines that having someone hanging off of you like meat off of well-cooked ribs would leave nothing to be debated as rumors.  


“Gay rumors.”  


“But you’ve had a boyfriend before?”  


“I’d hardly call him a boyfriend. I was seen with him twice. And regardless of that, everyone freaks when a celebrity does anything gay no matter how many times they do it.”  


Stuart wonders if that’s true. He remembers the freaking out from his parents when Murdoc was seen with this not-a-boyfriend, and he remembers feeling validated entirely by something Murdoc had done without thought.  


The limo comes to a stop.  


Stuart speaks up. “Do we need to get close again, for when he comes and gives you the pills?”  


Murdoc nods and waits for him to lie on top of him once again. “I’ll pretend not to be concerned with how excited you seem to be about this new aspect of your job.”  
Stuart decides to ignore him instead of denying anything. “How do you park limos anywhere?”  


Murdoc smirks. “Changing the subject. You park them in a ton of spaces, to the side instead of directly forward.”  


“Oh, okay.” His arms and hands are pressed uncomfortably between their chests and he can feel his bones getting sore. “Can I wrap my arms around you? I’m sore.”  


“Go for it.”  


Stuart does so, and he is tempted to flatten his palms against Murdoc’s back to feel the muscles he’s seen in so many photos, but instead, he balls his hands into fists. He doesn’t need to make it more obvious that he’s one of many teenage boys that wants to jump Murdoc’s bones.  


It doesn’t take enough time for Chip to get back for the contact to become more awkward. The window behind Murdoc’s head rolls down and he’s handed a bottle of painkillers and a bottle of water. Then, without a word, it rolls back up and the front door to the car can be heard opening and shutting.  


Murdoc and Stuart separate, and Murdoc hands him his things. Stuart quickly takes a handful and swallows them dry.  


“Is that enough?” Murdoc jokes.  


“The over the counter ones aren’t as strong as my prescription used to be.” Stuart says. He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes.  


“You just better be awake at the meeting,” Murdoc replies.  


When they get to the building, which, through the windows, Stuart can tell is not the same as last time, Murdoc makes no move to provide any faux physical affection. Chip comes by and opens both of their doors separately, and Stuart stands in cold air for only a moment before Murdoc is at his side and has taken his hand.  


“Spread your fingers, Christ. We can’t hold hands like we’re crossing the street.” He hisses once Chip is back in the vehicle and driving off.  


Stuart does, and Murdoc entwines their fingers as he throws on sunglasses. “Also, the room is going to be cold. I’ll give you my jacket, but only in front of everyone.”  


Stuart nods. Murdoc’s hands are soft and dry, and his own are rough and sweaty. “Do I have to sit in your lap again?”  


“No, this is a little more professional. We aren’t meeting with those three idiots this time.” He tugs on Stuart’s hand as he begins walking to the doors. “We’re meeting with my boss.”  


Stuart’s eyes widen and he scratches his head with his free hand. “Do I have to make a good impression?”  


Murdoc laughs heartily. “She doesn’t expect anything from you lot.”  


When Murdoc makes quips like this, Stuart remembers how witty he can be around anyone he’s comfortable with, and it reminds him of the limited relationship these two have. He hopes that eventually he can be less of a sweaty, anxious mess, but for now, he smiles, chuckling softly.  


Murdoc strides into the building with a loose grip on Stuart’s hand, and Stuart follows, less into the idea of pretending to be Murdoc’s partner now. He feels very strongly that Murdoc is not being himself around him whatsoever, and perhaps it’s the fact that he saw Murdoc when he wasn’t supposed to that’s finally sobering on him, but he feels that Murdoc isn’t real around anyone. He’d rather get to know the man for who he really is than feel his back muscles, that’s for sure.  


“C’mon,” Murdoc tugs him into the elevator. “Something on your mind?” He chuckles harshly and Stuart knows it is rhetorical.  


When they enter the boardroom, it is an entirely different scenario than the last meeting. The whole room is filled, and at the end of the table sits a woman that sends chills down Stuart’s spine. Most of the things associated with Murdoc do that to him. There are two empty seats, and Murdoc takes the one facing the woman, so Stuart takes the one next to him.  


“May I ask why you keep on showing up late?” The woman asks him.  


Murdoc leans back in his seat, releasing Stuart’s hand to put his arms behind his back. “I really can’t say,” He answers. “One thing last time, another the next.”  


The woman sighs. “Alright. Do you have any sketches that aren’t from your artists or was this meeting pointless?”  


Stuart has noticed that no one here seems to like Murdoc.  


“I’ve got a whole book of ‘em!” His voice gets higher, and he clears his throat. He tosses the book over to her. “They aren’t great but they’ve got explanations on the back.” The excitement in his voice is lost now, back to the usual aloof tone he carries.  


She picks it up and flips through, making a small hum. “We can make these into designs within a few weeks, and see if you like them in the flesh.”  


Murdoc nods, and leans forward in his seat. “Martha,” He says. “Why do we have all these, these suits hanging around the table?” He rests his elbows on the table and leans his chin on his knuckles. “All I had to do was hand over the booklet and you’ve got it looking like we’re going over nuclear plans.”  


His boss, Martha, stops flipping and looks at him with irritation. “They’re here to discuss where we’re planning to go from here with your line.”  


“Oh! Was I going to be a part of this conversation?”  


She smiles, a fake smile that doesn’t carry to her eyes. “It had depended on what you brought us.”  


“And now?” He asks, lifting his arms into the air.  


“You can stay if you’d like.”  


“Nah,” He says, standing up. “Just give me the final verdict, eh? Whenever you’ve got it. Send me a quick call or an e-mail or whatever. Don’t want to be in front of you lot if it’s devastating news.”  


He pushes back his chair with the back of his knees and grabs Stuart’s hand, nearly dragging him out of his seat and out of the room.  


When they’re out of earshot, Stuart whimpers. “Did I really need to be here for that?”  


Murdoc nods, and stays in front of him with their hands still clasped. “I know it doesn’t seem like it but if they see you all the time they’ll feel less suspicious when I bring you to the interviews so you can help. I’ve got a, a whole plan going on right now. Just you wait okay? It’ll all fold out quite nicely, I think.”  


Stuart hopes so. He’s never been through this process but it all seems so fast, and even without much knowledge about Murdoc besides what the man is allowing him to see, he’s nervous that things are going to fall to shit if he keeps going on like he doesn’t care about anything regarding his project.  


“C’mon, don’t look so worried like that.” He waves the worry off. “It’s all going to be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps the "three idiots" are the ones from the first meeting and if you didn't know they're a reference to the geeks in the IE9 video from plastic beach because I am trash for that video it's all I think about


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and 2D get to know one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO I'm sorry I didn't update for a while, I was at a writer's workshop improving my skills and shit so ya'll could continue to be impressed by the literary genius that gets wasted on two gay idiots

The first call that Murdoc gets in the morning is not the one he had expected. In the past weeks he’s gotten a call from some news station or paper at around the same dreadful hour of early morning each day, asking the same questions that have lost that shine that everything regarding Murdoc’s fame seems to have when it first emerges. Usually he declines without looking, but this time he looks and is brought immediately to full consciousness when he recognizes the name on caller ID. It’s his boss, calling the day after his meeting with her about his new line. In normal circumstances he does not hear from her for weeks after any interaction.  


Pushing his greasy hair out of his face and slicking it back to see, he grabs his phone and answers. “Hello?” His voice is deep, the kind of groggy that shows that his vocal chords have not moved in hours.  


“Have you just woken up?” Her voice is sharp and cutting, less so when her face isn’t accompanying it.  


Murdoc sits up in his bed, his sheets falling off of his torso and pooling around his lap. “Yeah, it’s early, you know?”  


“It’s one in the afternoon, Mr. Niccals.”  


“Exactly,” He answers. He rubs his eyes and lets out a groan.  


“This relates to what I called to tell you, Mr. Niccals.”  


Murdoc perks up. “Huh?”  


A sigh comes from her side of the phone. “Your sketches are fine, but you show a clear lack of interest in your line. Your drawings and descriptions seem like your mind is on something else. If you don’t, hmm, clean up your act, we’ll have to postpone or even cancel your show.”  


Murdoc sinks into his bed. He can feel stress beginning to layer over him like the sheets he’s been lying under all night.  


“You have two weeks to show us something more professional or this next call will be a cancellation.” She hangs up.  


Murdoc lets his phone drop and lies back down. He pulls the covers over himself and groans. He’d known that the sketches weren’t amazing, but they weren’t professional, either, and he’d expected at the least for them to suggest that he meet with the artists again, but this response was something he had not seen coming. After a few moments of sulking, he decides that he’s both too tired to go through the motions of putting on his sulking suit and not too proud to drink himself out of his misery.  


He stands from his bed with a scowl and throws his sheets off of himself. He has a cabinet of liquor at the foot of his bed for not so lonely nights and celebrations, and he’d always had the fear it would be used for this purpose. He kneels down to open the cabinet, and pulls a bottle of rum. He does not waste his more expensive brands on misery, but instead grabs his cheapest bottle and pops it open.  


Three bottles later and he has not moved from his spot at the end of his bed. His phone has been ringing on and off for quite a few minutes, but he’s ignored it. His body isn’t as warm as he’d expect it to be, and he in fact feels quite cold, so he grabs another bottle and forces himself off of his feet to warm up through movement. After jumping up and down and therefore spilling his drink over the silk sleeve of his pyjamas, he waltzes- stumbles- to the main room of his penthouse. That’s when he hears the knocking.  


He takes another gulp of his drink before opening the door a few inches. He’d forgotten to undo the latch and the door harshly stops where the length of the latch ends. He peeks out of the opening and squints.  


“Who is it?” He slurs, his voice making the words sound like one.  


“It’s Stuart,” A small voice comes from the gap. “Are you drunk?”  


Murdoc shuts the door and undoes the latch before flinging the door open. “I’m not drunk.” He grabs Stuart by the wrist and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “A little tipsy, is all.”  


Stuart compresses himself as the arm crushes him and kicks the door shut. “Are you sober enough to talk about your line?”  


Murdoc frowns and shakes his head. “I refuse to talk about that, that shit.” His last word is harsh and spitting.  


Stuart’s eyebrows lift in concern. “What happened?” He asks.  


Murdoc shakes his head again and sits down on the white couch, pulling Stuart with him. “Nothing I want to talk about.” He pulls Stuart so close their cheeks are practically touching, and for a moment Stuart is alarmed, before Murdoc takes a gulp from the bottle in the hand that was on his shoulder. He finishes drinking and leaves his face so close. “I’d rather talk about your day,” Murdoc’s voice, Stuart notices, is much more high pitched than usual. It doesn’t necessarily crack, but it gets higher at certain points of his speech and warbles when he’s near finished talking.  


“It’s been okay. Strange now.” Stuart wonders if this is his usual voice, and if the deep voice that usually comes from his mouth is a facade he pulls to try and come off as cool.  


“Hm, well, that’s rather boring, isn’t it?”  


Stuart shrugs. “I guess so. My life has gotten more boring since you gave me the job.”  


Murdoc scowls at him. “Boring?” He stretches the word out, practically yelling it. “I’m a riot!”  


“Stable, I meant.” For some reason, the lack of aloofness that Murdoc normally carries is frightening to him.  


“No, no. You meant boring.” He presses a sharp fingernail against Stuart’s cheek. “I can show you how interesting I can be,”  


Stuart bites his lip. “No thank you.” He’s heard that when superstars get drunk they get horny, and while he’d be very happy to have an opportunity like that while Murdoc is sober, he’d rather take this time to get to know what he hopes is the man’s real self.  


Murdoc makes some kind of groaning sound that Stuart has never heard before. “Then what else are we going to do?”  


“I’m sorry,” Stuart sits up straight. “What was that noise?”  


Murdoc makes another, incredibly different groaning sound. “What sound?”  


“That one,”  


Murdoc shakes his head. “I’m not sure what you’re getting on about,”  


Stuart frowns. “Okay. I could get you to bed,”  


Murdoc stands up. “No! I’m not a child. We have to go out on the town,” He grumbles, once again making a sound that Stuart cannot understand. “Have some fun, you know?”  


Stuart looks at his watch. “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon.”  


“So what?” Murdoc finishes off his bottle and grins. “We’ve got to have fun,” He says. “So we don’t get bored.”  


Stuart purses his lips. He decides, while listening to Murdoc go on and on about the pubs and club life and how desperately he needs to get outdoors, that the only way he might get to know the man is to do whatever he wants.  


They find themselves in an empty bar, devoid of all of the warmth Stuart had felt while meeting his friends and all of the excitement he’d felt while meeting Murdoc.  
Murdoc orders the both of them hard liquor, unlike the pints he’d gotten them the first night.  


“Why are they letting you purchase hard liquor in the early afternoon?”  


Murdoc rolls his eyes. “I’m a famous face, little chicken. I can get anything I want if I pout hard enough,” He chuckles, but this time instead of a dull and lifeless ‘ha-ha-ha’, it’s a deep grumble that sounds somewhat like his strange grumbles.  


Stuart nods, disoriented by the strange character in front of him. Nicknames and dark laughter and a wide smile. “Little chicken?”  


“Oh, get off it. It doesn’t mean anything special.” He takes a shot, and pushes the other glass to Stuart. “Drink up.”  


Stuart shakes his head. “I need to be sober to get you home.”  


“If you came out with me expecting to stay sober all night, you’re an idiot. If you came out with me trying to be some kind of hero, you’re a right ass.” He burps. “So, drink up.”  


Stuart squints at him with passive frustration, and takes the shot. His throat burns and he coughs. “What was that?” He asks, his voice raspy and light.  


“Mmm, something or other. I ordered whatever he recommended when I asked to get shitfaced.”  


Stuart’s eyes widen. “What?”  


Murdoc looks at him with a small tilt of the lips upward. “Oh, come on. I know you want to know me past the stupid model idiot, huh? But I’m not letting you take advantage of me if you’re sober while I’m drunk. So you can get to know me while we’re both off our asses on my choice of liquor.”  


“Fair enough.” Stuart nods. “If you get me drunk enough, I might be confident enough to be myself, too.”  


Murdoc gapes. “As in, you’re not really some anxious little what’sit?”  


Stuart gulps. “Well, when you get past the anxiety, sure. But you being so scary doesn’t help.”  


“Scary?” Murdoc laughs, once again the grumble that doesn’t necessarily sound real. “I’m not scary, am I?”  


Stuart has noticed that Murdoc is acting much more put together now that they’re in public, and is beginning to wonder if he was manipulated into leaving the apartment. “You’re very scary. Even when you’re being nice. Especially when I saw you with that girl.”  


Murdoc shakes his head. “That woman wasn’t scary.”  


“No, but you were so calm about it it was frightening.” Stuart shudders at the thought. “Why do you think I tried to call you twenty times before coming over today? I was terrified you’d be with someone else again, and when you didn’t pick up I was worried you really were.”  


“But you came anyways.”  


“I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine you last an hour and a half in bed.”  


“You’ll have to see for yourself.”  


“No thank you.”  


“A joke!” Murdoc gently shoves his shoulder. “You’re not my type, don’t worry.”  


Stuart refuses to admit that that stings. “I wasn’t worried.”  


After a few more drinks, Murdoc stops drinking. Slurred, he leans over his seat to cup Stuart’s cheeks. “I’m the equivalent of at least,” Murdoc pauses and leans back, counting on his fingers. “Fifty drinks ahead of you.”  


“What?” Stuart feels sick to his stomach. “Fifty?” He’s already probably twice as drunk as Murdoc. “That doesn’t sound right.”  


“Three bottles at forty proof? I think so. So drink up.” Murdoc calls the bartender back over, clearing his throat.  


“A bottle of your cheapest rum?”  


“Sir, you’ve been here for three hours and you might not make it out of the pub at this point.”  


“I can handle my liquor. Call Chip if I pass out.”  


“Sir I don’t know who Chip is.”  


Murdoc rolls his eyes. “I’ve got money.” He pulls out the wad of cash he always carries- not that he was planning on paying for a hooker tonight, not with Stuart beside him, but it’s standard, so he doesn’t die if he gets mugged.  


The bartender takes the cash and hands him a bottle.  


Murdoc smiles at him and turns to the wobbling Stuart, handing him the bottle. “What’s your favorite color?”  


Stuart takes a cautious sip, or at least, the tiny amount that his weak arms allow him to hold to his lips. “I really like green.”  


Murdoc grins, chuckling grossly. “Any reason for that?”  


Stuart chuckles. “Not because I grew up idolizing you for that rotting skin, that’s for sure.” He takes another small sip. “What about you?” At this point, he’s begun to spin in the stool, and Murdoc has had to jut out a foot so he wouldn’t spin until he vomits.  


“Blue. And that’s not because of your hair, that’s for sure.”  


“Then why is it?”  


“It looks good on me.”  


Stuart frowns. “That’s not why. Don’t be an idiot model and tell me.”  


Murdoc shrugs. “It’s pretty. Do I need a reason?”  


Stuart shakes his head. “That’s all you had to say.”  


Murdoc burps. “Mmm, keep drinking. You’re at that cryptic stage of drunk.”  


“Is that the stage right before passing out?” He asks, tempted to begin spinning again. He has the theory that if he spins in his chair he can catch up to the way the room is spinning and everything will look normal. Despite the fact that he’d been on the streets for a while, he’s never been this drunk, and he knows that it was all for his own safety, but he feels safe around Murdoc for some inexplicable reason. He knows he shouldn’t put trust in a man that was already drunk when he came into the apartment, but the warmth he was lacking when they walked in slowly returned to the area as Murdoc started to open up.  


“I also like blue mixed with green,” Murdoc says. “It’s like, turquoise or whatever. Very pretty. If I didn’t do purple and white I would do blue and green.”  


Stuart likes the sound of that. He imagines blue and green on Murdoc’s white sheets, and then stops himself as he turns red. “I think I’m gonna vomit,” He blurts, standing from his stool and running to the bathroom.  


Murdoc manages not to pass out, and calls Chip once he finds an unconscious Stuart with his cheek on the seat of a dirty pub toilet. When the limo shows up, Murdoc picks Stuart up and throws him over his shoulder, making sure he’s face down so they can leave a trail of vomit out of the pub.  


Chip is waiting outside of the limo this time, leaning against the hood. “Are we taking him home?”  


Murdoc shakes his head. “I’m sure two college aged kids would know what to do with a drunk kid but I’m not gonna toss him on them like that.”  
Chip tilts his head.  


“My image, Chip. It’s for my image.”  


He nods and opens the door, helping Murdoc to set him in the backseat before Murdoc slips in himself. “Homeward bound, good fellow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also the thing about their favorite colours isn't just fluffy shit it's actually canon and Murdoc says in his facebook webchat that he likes blue and green together


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night After (tm)

It is half past noon when Stuart wakes up with a massive headache and a burn in his stomach like fire ants eating him from the inside out. His head is hanging over the bed, to assure he doesn’t vomit onto the sheets or into his own lungs, he assumes, but when he opens his eyes he sees hardwood floors instead of the cheap and dirty carpet his own bed rests on. He sits up quickly in fear- a bad idea, because he’s struck with the pain of a metal baseball bat slamming into his temple- looking around the room and feeling his breath hitch in his chest when the black and white colour scheme and the sheets that feel to him like clouds must signify to him that he is in Murdoc Niccals’ bed.  


He still hurts all over, but the feeling of sheets that could not have been washed before he was tossed into them brings him to a numbing peace. He creeps himself out a little bit, but regardless, he takes a while to lie in the bed and feel the fluffy sheets against him and the soft pillow beneath his head. When he finally stands up, he notices that all of his clothes remain on, and that Murdoc must have either been too drunk or felt too odd putting an unconscious teen boy into pyjamas. He does notice, however, that his shoes are nowhere to be seen, and instead of his own ratty socks he wears clean and rather humorously fuzzy ones.  


He shuffles to the edge of the bedroom, sliding on the socks for a while before he decides against looking like even more of an idiot in front of Murdoc. He steps out of the bedroom and walks through the hallway he has deemed to be full of only the most personal and violating photographs of Murdoc, and ends up in the living room. It doesn’t take him long to grow uncomfortable from the sunlight bursting through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and it takes him only a moment longer to see Murdoc standing at the kitchen counter.  


“You’re up!” Murdoc says. Something about his voice is different and Stuart cannot remember if it had been like that the night before. It’s not as deep, and it shows some level of humanity Stuart has never associated with the model. Murdoc peers at him for a moment, nearly long enough for Stuart to feel more violated by the living thing than the hallway of pictures. “Is the light bothering you?”  


Stuart nods, and where he had been squinting due to the light he continues to do so due to the strangeness of Murdoc’s actions.  


Murdoc slips from behind the counter and lowers two large and thick curtains. Now only light from the edges of the fabric comes through, leaving them in grey light that is not quite dark but not quite light either. “I made you some peppermint tea,” He says.  


Stuart is taken aback. He’d expected to be shooed out the moment he’s woken up, or, more likely, tossed out of the limo the night he’d passed out and left on the front lawn in front of his flat. “Thank you,” He replies. His voice is raspy and sounds unlike his own. He walks with soft and padded footsteps to the counter, and sits down at a stool.  


Murdoc follows him, and hands him a plate with a small mug of tea and a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On the plate there are a few aspirins and ibuprofen.  


Stuart does not know what to say, so he goes with something less than eloquent. “Where are my socks and shoes?”  


Murdoc drums his fingers against the marble counter. Clearly he’s forgotten. “Oh,” He says. “You, mmm,” A grumble that frightens Stuart. “Vomited on them, and I put them in the wash. I didn’t want your feet to dirty my sheets so I went through the strenuous process of putting some of my lazy socks on them.” He looks at Stuart and the grungy clothes he’s wearing, something that would normally be fine but looks pathetic and sad in his home. “Do you want to wear something else? You were sweating quite a lot. I can imagine those clothes are stiff.”  


Stuart had imagined a situation something like this throughout all of his years in high school. Every detail, down to the way Murdoc’s sentences are short- of course, he’d imagined they’d be much more lustful, and not filled with what sounds like it is almost genuine concern. “That would be nice, if it isn’t too much to ask.”  


Murdoc nods. “You can finish eating first, or if you want, I can get you new clothes now.”  


Stuart can feel his breath hitch again. “I’d prefer new clothes now.”  


Murdoc leads him back to the bedroom, and Stuart focuses on the back of his neck and the way that his walk is so much less stiff now instead of the walls of Murdoc staring down at him. When they get into the room, Stuart wonders if he should have made the bed when he woke up, and sits on the edge of it in an attempt to hide the mangled sheets. 

Murdoc ignores him, and goes to his closet, wrenching out some silk pyjamas, the same kind Stuart thinks he can remember Murdoc wearing when he came by yesterday.  


“They might be small, but they’re clean and feel nice on your skin.” Murdoc flattens his lips. “Do you need underwear?”  


Stuart blushes. “Um, I feel gross either way, but far more gross not changing them.”  


Murdoc nods and grabs a pair of purple boxers, handing Stuart the stack of clothes and pointing to a door at the end of his room. “You can take a shower in there and change, I’ll be in the living room. You can give me your dirty clothes to wash when you’re done.”  


Stuart nods. “Thank you so much,” He coughs. “I’m sorry I passed out.”  


Murdoc shakes his head. “I forced you to drink, kid. I would have been surprised if you managed not to. Worried even.”  


Stuart blushes. “Okay, I’m going to shower.”  


Murdoc looks at him for a moment before making a move to the door. “If you need help working the shower just tell me.” He leaves the room, and Stuart is left alone once again.  


He enters the master bathroom, and is not shocked by the sophisticated design. The sink is a vanity and the toilet must be in a small closet-like room so it does not disturb the beauty of the room. The shower is made of glass, and big enough for at least two people to bathe comfortably together- many ideas flow through Stuart’s mind at this, but he tries to subdue them for their lack of helpfulness in his situation, especially with how vivid they are- and the handle is nowhere to be seen.  


Stuart circles the available perimeter looking for it, before becoming worried that he’s in some nightmarish dream. “Murdoc??” He yells, only slightly embarrassed that it took him less than a minute to get lost.  


Murdoc strolls into the bathroom, a glass of orange juice in his hand. “Yes?”  


He blushes. “I can’t find the handle.”  


Murdoc steps past him and pushes on the glass panel that mirrors the wall. It opens, and Murdoc also does Stuart the favor of turning the shower on. “Do you prefer it hot or cold?”  


“Warm, please.”  


Murdoc nods and twists the shower handle. Stuart naturally feels insecure that Murdoc thinks he can’t figure even that out on his own, but he considers the fact that he probably couldn’t, and pushes his nerves to the back of his head. Murdoc’s forearm gets wet and Stuart imagines a situation wherein he asks the man if he might just hop in with him, why not, since his arm is wet already. “Whoops,” Murdoc says, a small grin spreading across his lips. “I would have forgotten to give you a towel.”  


Stuart blushes. “Whoops.”  


Murdoc grabs a monogrammed towel, and sets it on the counter next to the shower. “I’ll keep your food and tea warm. Did you take the pills?”  


Stuart shakes his head. With the confusing acts of pure kindness coming from Murdoc, he’s completely forgotten.  


“I’ll grab them for you before you hop in.”  


Stuart waits only a few moments before Murdoc steps back into the room with a glass of water and a handful of pills. Stuart takes them, and thanks him softly, and finally, Murdoc is gone.  


When Stuart strips bare, he realizes exactly what Murdoc had meant when he said stiff. His clothes feel like cardboard coming off, and when they fall to the ground, they don’t even rumple. He sets the newer clothes on the counter next to the towel, and steps into the shower. Immediately, the warm water on his back soothes him. It comes down much smoother and gentler than the shower at home or at the hotel, and comes from more than just one place.  


The water drenches him immediately and his hair covers the light that filters into the bathroom, and he can feel the dirt and sweat fall off of him. The nearly too hot water seems to peel a layer off skin right off of him, and he almost forgets the soap. When he squeezes some into the palm of his hand- he’d forgotten to ask for a washcloth and using the loofah hanging from the showerhead would feel like a violation of privacy- the whole shower begins to smell like Murdoc. The soap is much too musky for himself, but the thought of smelling like Murdoc excites him more than he’d like to admit, and he takes his time to lather it over himself. The shampoo is something he’s concerned about. He’s never really seen clean hair on Murdoc, and he’s worried that the shampoo the shower is stocked with will somehow make his hair greasier than it already is.  


He tries it anyways, and he’s surprised that he’s not familiar with the scent. Perhaps it’s that Murdoc never uses it- although the bottle is more than half empty- or maybe it’s that he’s never been that close to him. When he’s done bathing, he stands in the shower for a while longer to let his pills kick in, and he does so until the water runs cold. When it does, he turns the water off and dries himself off quickly, and puts on the pyjamas to see that they’re not too small, but fit him snuggly. The underwear is softer than any he’s had in months and fits him well, unlike the loose ones he’d been wearing for a while.  


He grabs all of his dirty clothes and the towel, after drying his hair with it, and makes his way out of the bathroom. Murdoc is sitting on the couch, watching the news on a television that Stuart had initially thought was the wall, and when he notices that Stuart has come in, he sits up straight.  


“I’ll take those off of your hands.” He says. He stands up and takes them from Stuart. “You can watch the telly if you want.”  


Stuart shakes his head, and follows Murdoc closely. “The news makes me uneasy. Can I ask you a question?”  


Murdoc nods, tossing his clothes into a rather normal washing machine in a tiny room. “Shoot.”  


“Did something happen last night?” He asks. He has begun to pick at the skin around his fingers again.  


“I guess you can say that,” Murdoc answers. He shuts the machine and starts it, turning to look at Stuart. In the tiny room they are practically embracing. “We made a promise to be real around each other. I didn’t want to, but I don’t back out on promises.”  


Stuart blushes. “Well, I don’t remember that, so you could have pretended it didn’t happen.”  


Murdoc smirks at him, his hands behind his back on the machine. “Hell no. I want to see the real you just as much as you’re terrified to meet the real me.”  


Stuart’s eyes widen. “I’m not scared.”  


“Then stop acting like it, and come watch some stupid sitcom with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have an idea for where this fic is going to go so if I stop updating its not because I'm stuck and you can feel free to yell at me


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and 2D go somewhere to get their minds off of work stress. ITS NOT A DATE HAHA

By the time the dryer sings its jolly tune, Stuart has come to terms with being real around Murdoc, and with Murdoc being real around him. He, more comfortable than ever, is sprawled out on the couch he’s learned Murdoc slept on last night, watching Friends- or, more accurately, watching Murdoc watch friends. He doesn’t think the model enjoys it, and neither does he, but he’s too comfortable to say a thing. The moment the dryer begins to chime, Murdoc stands, and Stuart is nearly worried that he’s anxious for him to leave, but avoids the nerves.  


Murdoc leaves the room and comes back with warm and clean clothes, as well as slightly damp sneakers. “I got them for you,” He says.  


Stuart smiles, and takes them, standing up. As comfortable as the pyjamas are, he feels like a doofus wearing them, and takes off the top immediately without worry that Murdoc will be uncomfortable. He’s seen so many models bare and so many lovers in the nude, he doubts a teen boy’s chest will make him blush. However, the thought of his own chest bared in front of Murdoc is enough to make him blush, and his chest turns pink as he unfolds his fresh shirt and pulls it on.  


“So, what, you’re just going to strip in front of me?”  


Stuart coughs, looking at Murdoc with a grin. “No, I just needed to get that silk off of me before I broke all of its buttons.”  


Murdoc nods. “Of course. I’ll grab a bite from the fridge while you finish changing.” He waltzes to the kitchen, and opens the fridge so there’s a barrier of vision between them.  


Stuart quickly changes pants while Murdoc rummages, and by the time Murdoc has grabbed a bowl of something pickled, Stuart is sitting on the couch, folding up the pyjamas he’d been so grateful to wear. Murdoc returns to the couch and sits beside him, the small pile of clothes between them.  


“So,” Stuart starts, tugging at his collar. “All I really remember from yesterday is that there was something about work you didn’t want to tell me about?”  


Murdoc nods. “Still don’t want to tell you about it.”  


Stuart groans. “Come on! We’re being real now. You gotta tell me, or we can’t get the line done.”  


Murdoc purses his lips, and takes a bite of whatever is in the bowl that smells of pure vinegar. “Okay,” He replies, swallowing. “My boss called before you came over yesterday. She said that it seems like I’ve been focusing on something else the whole time I’ve been sketching, and that if I don’t come up with something more professional in two weeks, she’ll cut off the line.” He sighs. “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking about for the past couple of weeks, but if you could just kind of cut it out that would be really helpful.”  


Stuart blushes, and nods. He’d been thinking more about the way Murdoc would look in the clothes than anything else, and perhaps that left much to look for in terms of being universal. “I can do that. I should be more focused on work, anyways.”  


Murdoc shrugs, and stretches out on the couch. “You have two weeks, so don’t stress too much. But meeting with the artists again would be good for us.”  


Stuart has noticed that Murdoc is much colder the moment work is mentioned. “I’ll work on it, but for now, it’s best to keep your mind off of it, right?”  


Murdoc nods, and grins uncomfortably. “It’s a little hard when you’re surrounded by it everywhere.” He lifts a hand, gesturing to his own face looking eerily similar to the descriptions of posters of Big Brother in 1984.  


“I’d suggest going out somewhere, but I’d rather not instill drinking as a natural reaction to sadness, and I don’t think you’re the type of guy who likes parks.”  


Murdoc frowns. “I love parks.” He scratches his forearm. “I really like feeding the ducks little bits of bread.”  


“Doesn’t that make them explode?”  


Murdoc looks at him with shock and disgust. “Does it really? Fuck.” He sinks into the couch and takes another bite of his food.  


“But we can get duck food and feed them. That’s a thing right?” Stuart blurts, immediately becoming desperate for time with Murdoc and time for Murdoc to calm down from what looks like an inevitable spiral.  


“Maybe. We can see.” Murdoc stands up. “I’m going to get dressed and call Chip. I’ll be back.”  


Stuart sits on the couch alone now, beaming freely. The longer he spends with this warmer and realer Murdoc, the more he finds he likes him. He knows he’s falling down a rabbit hole that Noodle warned him about, but it isn’t like he’s never dealt with an unreciprocated crush before. Anyways, he knew what he was getting into the moment he recognized him in the pub and dropped everything at the thought of working with him.  


Meanwhile, Murdoc gets dressed in something he considers inconspicuous. He has to dig through his entire walk-in closet to find a single tee shirt, and he digs a little less hard to find a pair of jeans. What he desperately does not want to happen during this outing is to be spotted and surrounded, and have to pretend once again that Stuart is his partner. It isn’t the closeness that worries him, being close to anyone is something he can get behind, but the look on his face (and somehow, the look in his eyes, even though there are no distinguishing features to show him) whenever it happens. He can tell that Stuart tries to hide it, in fact, the efforts he goes to hide it makes it more obvious. He tries so hard to seem uninterested, but Murdoc knows a fan when he sees one, and however put together, or however not obnoxious or annoying the boy is, he much prefers it when they aren’t forced to be something they’re not.  


Once he’s dressed as closely to a normal person as he can be, and makes a call to his driver, he returns to the living room. “We can head downstairs now, if you want.”  


“You’re not looking too spiffy right now.” Stuart grins, standing up.  


Murdoc scowls at him. “I was doing you a favor, Stu.”  


There it is, that nickname again. The first time he’d heard it it had been unnatural and forced, but now it seems so gentle and normal. Stuart hopes that that becomes a permanent nickname.  


“C’mon, let’s go already.”  


“Wait, are you dressed like that so you don’t draw attention?” Stu asks.  


“Yes. Why?” He crosses his arms over his chest and stands in front of the door.  


“Isn’t a limo the opposite of inconspicuous?”  


Murdoc frowns. “Yes.”  


“Let’s just take a taxi! You can get the civilian experience.” Stu stands up, grinning widely.  


Murdoc’s eyes widen. “What? No.”  


Stu shakes his head. “You can’t expect to be avoided by paparazzi in a limousine.”  


Murdoc groans. “Fine,” He opens the door and holds an arm out into the hallway. “We’ll tell Chip to leave. What am I paying him for, anyways?”  


Stu grins. “What are you paying me for?”  


Murdoc rolls his eyes and begins to walk out of the apartment. “Not to be my therapist, but I guess I’ll pay you for today and yesterday.”  


Stu follows. At first he wants to say that it’s not necessary, but he’ll take the offer of money at any time.  


When they get to the parking lot, Murdoc grabs his hand and drags him to the driver’s window. “Sorry, Chip. We’re going on a, mmm,” He avoids eye contact with either man in his vicinity. “A date. And I don’t want papparazzi to follow us. So I’m going to get a taxi instead.”  


Chip nods silently and drives off. Murdoc looks at Stu uncomfortably and releases his hand. “So how do I do this?”  


Stu walks to the sidewalk. “You hold out your hand,” He says, holding it out. “And yell.” He calls for a taxi, and Murdoc has never seen someone with a mouth so big, tooth gap and gold caps all visible. A taxi comes up immediately and Stu smiles, opening it up and getting in.  


“Can you take us to a pet feed store?”  


The man in the front grunts and nods, and Murdoc sits in his seat with disgust.  


Eventually, they get to a small feed store in the middle of nowhere, and Stu nudges Murdoc to pay as he gets out. The store itself is small and dark, with bars over the windows and narrow lines of shelves holding buckets of self serve feed.  


“This is shady as Hell,” Murdoc whispers, keeping close to Stu out of fear for his own safety.  


“This is not,” Stu scoffs, leading him through the small space to the back of the store, where the bird food is.  


“Do ducks count as a bird in situations like this?” Murdoc asks. Stu begins to wonder if he was ever a normal person.  


Stu grabs a bag and a shovel, and begins shoveling from a bucket labeled DUCK. “Evidently, they do.”  


The park is not a stark change from the feed store. The only good side to the dreary rain is that no one else is around. The two walk along the pavement huddled together tightly, wondering why neither thought to bring a coat.  


“This is lifting your spirits, right?” Stu asks as they pass a couple running with their hands over their heads to shield from the water. “Even with the rain and the clouds?”  


Murdoc looks up at him and nods. He is clutching the feed bag tightly and had been keeping an eye out for a pond. “Yeah, I’d prefer it be less sunny anyways.”  


Stu smiles brightly. “Okay! I was worried this was a failure.”  


“The taxi was gross and the feed store felt like prison, but it’s fine. I just hope you know I’m not letting you spend another night at my flat to wash the rainwater out of your clothes. Sleeping on the couch has given me back problems already.” Murdoc grins as he says this, and Stu is not sure if that truly was a statement that he’s not allowed to spend another night or an invitation to share a bed.  


Ridiculous, Stu thinks, getting his mind out of the gutter his crush has created. “Who else is going to make sure you don’t get drunk at three in the afternoon again?”  


Murdoc spends a moment mocking him. “You’ll have to call me around then and check up. Also, it was one in the afternoon.”  


Stu giggles, something he can’t help. “That’s worse,”  


“What else was I supposed to do?”  


“Go to the park,” Stu says. He breaks their close huddle to walk to a pedestrian bridge in front of them and peer over the edge. “There are ducks here,” He calls.  


Murdoc saunters to a spot beside Stu. “How much do I throw?”  


“I don’t know,” Stu answers. “You’re the one who claimed to do this all the time.”  


Murdoc assumes he’ll throw a clump of feed as big as a chunk of bread, and so he does. Immediately all of the ducks swarm to it, so he throws another in a different direction to keep the peace. “Do you want to throw some?” He asks.  


Stu scoots closer to Murdoc. His tee shirt is clinging to his skin and it has begun to freeze him. “That would be nice. Is this too close?”  


Murdoc shakes his head and holds out the bag of feed. “No. I’m cold, too. You don’t have to ask, you know. I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable.” Murdoc can tell right now that Stu truly is cold and needs warmth from him, and is not using the rain as an excuse to get too close.  


Stu nods. He wonders if Murdoc is uncomfortable about his obvious feelings for him, but retracts his wonder, thinking that if he were he would say something and he must be used to it from everyone by now. He takes a handful of feed and tosses it so that a thin layer of it covers the closer few feet of the pond’s surface. Ducks begin to pop up from underneath the layer of feed, and Murdoc looks by in wonder. Stu wonders if this was a bad idea, if he should have let Murdoc wallow in misery instead of bringing him somewhere where he could be himself and drag Stu further down into this crush.  


“Are ducks your favorite animal?” Stu asks. The opportunity to get to know Murdoc is one he’ll never take for granted.  


“No, my favorite animal is the crow.” He answers, a glint in his eyes. “But those are harder to feed.”  


“Are they? I thought they ate dead things.”  


Murdoc chuckles. “I’m too famous to be known for leaving carcasses on my balcony for crows to come by.”  


Stu hums, tossing some more feed into the pond. “I should do it. You can buy some kind of dead animal off the black market or something and I’ll toss it on my porch,” He grins. “I’ll call you to come over when the crows come.”  


Murdoc smirks. “You’d get evicted.”  


“I’m a vegetarian anyways, I’d feel like a poser.” He leans over the railing of the bridge, his hip brushing against Murdoc’s side comfortably.  


“You’re vegetarian?”  


“Yeah,” Stu replies, watching the ducks go nuts over the food with happy eyes.  


“I didn’t peg you for one.”  


“Really?” Stu turns to him, and because he’s leaning over he has to look up at him.  


“Yeah, really. You’re more punk rock than hippie.” Murdoc chuckles, stuffing a hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a soggy smoke.  


“Are you going to try to smoke that?” Stu asks.  


“Well, hold your hands up over it so it doesn’t get more wet.”  
Stuart stands and does so, his hands a little shaky from the lack of much food in the past twenty-four hours. Murdoc takes his lighter and runs ir under the cigarette about an inch away, drying it, and then lights it. He stuffs his lighter in his pocket and uses his free hand to cover it as Stu retracts his own.  


“Thanks,” He says, cigarette held tight between his teeth.  


“No problem.” Stu smiles. “Do you want to sit down?”  


Murdoc nods, and they leave the full ducks to sit on a bench slightly farther down the bridge. Once again they stay close for warmth, their knees pressed against each other as Murdoc drapes a shoulder along the back of the bench, behind Stu. “This is very nice. When you made me get into that disgusting car I was worried this would only make me more miserable, but you make good company.”  


Stu’s cheeks flush pink. He smiles softly and feels the butterflies in his stomach begin to build up wildly. “Thank you. You’re enjoyable, too, when you’re not being weird about normal things like taxis.”  


Murdoc shakes his head. “That wasn’t weird! That was the dirtiest car I’ve ever been in, and you puked onto the floor of my limo at least three times last night.”  
Stu blushes. “Did I?”  


Murdoc nods. “Of course you did, I made you drink probably your weight in liquor. Speaking of which, how have you not pissed yet?”  


At the mention of piss, Stu feels an ache in his bladder. “Oh. I guess I had been too excited to see a less cold Murdoc to realize I had to.”  


Murdoc chuckles, smoke and cold air leaving his mouth. “I’m freezing, but I get what you mean.”  


Stu stands up, his knee and back becoming cold again now that Murdoc’s body heat is not aiding them. “I‘m going to go find a portapotty.” He ventures off in the way they’d come, hands in pockets and smile on his face.  


Murdoc watches him leave and wonders if this is what friendship feels like. Going places just for the hell of it and talking with no lull in conversation. He thinks that drunken promise is the best thing he’s ever done. The heat from the smoke in his lungs cannot compare to the heat in his cheeks and stomach at the thought of someone who he can be himself around, someone who he does not have to be cold to. He thinks it must be a sign that, even when the boy leaves, he cannot stop thinking about him, and it isn’t in despair but instead in joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I hope that a certain someone reading this noticed my mention of a rabbit hole >:)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc messes up and it takes a while to realize how so.

A week after their day at the park, Stu and Murdoc finally meet for work. Recently, all they’ve been doing is getting to know one another, and although Murdoc appreciates the intense friendship they’ve developed, they need to buckle down on something other than their personal relationship.  


“Okay, so you said that all of the sketches seem like they’re focused on something other than fashion?” Stu says, his fingers entwined with themselves around a mug of tea.  


They’re once again in Murdoc’s apartment, not only because it’s easier than trying to avoid cameras and pretending to be into one another, but also because since Murdoc has instilled a strict rule on himself that requires him to stop bringing floozies home, Stu has felt more comfortable than ever in the minimalist setting. Like a pop of colour in a black and white painting.  


“Yeah, but I’m not sure what. You got something on your mind?” Murdoc asks, his tongue dripping from his mouth in the way it does each time Murdoc insinuates that Stu has a massive hard on for him.  


“Yeah,” Stu says. He can’t help but get rosy cheeked and bright eyed when Murdoc does this, and his voice shows it. “But I can stop.” He clears his throat, focusing his eyes on the blank sketchbook in front of him. “I think that I can make better sketches if I think more about other people wearing the clothes and less about you.” He blushes. “In them.”  


Murdoc smirks. “Reminder that I’m not modeling these. They’ll be going on less grotesque models.”  


Stu nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. When are we meeting the sketch artists? I can write up some descriptions before then.”  


Murdoc shrugs. “Whenever you’re ready to, within the next seven days.” He looks at the sketchpad. “Any ideas immediately come to mind?”  


Stu bites his lip. “I still like the grimy idea. But now I’m thinking that no one can pull off the royal look like you do,” He sighs silently, unsure why today he cannot filter himself.  


Murdoc chuckles. “I agree with you. We can go with everything tattered and disgusting. It’s my favorite kind of look.”  


Stu nods and starts writing, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of the man in front of him. He draws a little yellow vest and scribbles over the bottom, and rests his cheek on the hand he’s not writing with. “Do you want me to do this here, or I can go home and do it?”  


Murdoc looks up from where he’d been cleaning his nails with a butter knife. “I’d like the company, but if I’m too distracting,” He grins. “You can go home.”  


Stu purses his lips. “Don’t worry. You’re not distracting me,” He says, focusing harshly on the paper in front of him. He’s lying, but he cares more about making sure Murdoc’s career doesn’t fall into the gutter than whether he can look at him for the next hour.  


In the next hour, Stu focuses on gritty porno mags hidden in coat closets as his inspiration instead of the man he’d used throughout his teenage years instead of those, and Murdoc focuses on him with an unrelenting stare.  


Murdoc has always been a man of very specific tastes. He’s never been picky when looking for a lover, but that doesn’t mean everyone he’s slept with has been up to par with his needs. He’s not entirely sure what those needs are, anymore, or if he even knows what his specific tastes are, either. All he knows is that the trance Stu put him in the first night he saw him has not worn off, that even now the way his forehead creases and he bites his lip is somehow just as alluring as the way he had held that mic and fluttered his eyelashes to the crowd.  


Something about his abnormal features just hooked into him, got under his skin. “You’re very pretty. You could easily be a model, like me.”  


Stu looks up at him, chuckling softly. “What?”  


Murdoc does not take his eyes off of him. “Not a catwalk model. Just in the photos.” He grins. “If this works out, I’d like to see you on a billboard wearing my clothes.”  


Stu feels his face warming up. “Really?”  


Murdoc nods. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. I hired you for a reason.”  


Whenever Murdoc says things like this, Stu swears that there must be some kind of attraction there. There’s no way that a man can say these things to another man in an entirely professional way, there’s no way that Murdoc can stare at him like this and have no intentions of acting on that damned look in his eyes. “You’ve got to stop saying things like this, Muds.”  


He’s no idea where that nickname came from, but at this point he’s no longer afraid of Murdoc’s reaction.  


“Why is that?”  


Stu gestures to the paper in front of him. “They’re all gonna come out distracted again. I’ve been trying to think about porno mags instead of you but when you say that stuff it’s hard.”  


Murdoc guffaws. “Wait- you’re saying that it’s easier for you to concentrate when you think about naked women than it is when you think about me?”  


Stu’s mouth drops. “No, I mean, they’re just as gritty but they apply more universally than you do and everything else I was producing was too- too Murdoc. It has to be stuff other people can pull off, too.” He’d pulled that lie right out of his ass. It isn’t entirely false but Murdoc’s statement wasn’t, either.  


“Fine, I’ll stop gushing.” He says, and he looks back at the nails he’d never finished cleaning. “I’m just not sure how else to express my,” He clears his throat. “Appreciation for our friendship or whatever.”  


Stu tries desperately to hide the disappointment he feels each time Murdoc brings up the fact that no matter how many signs he throws out there, they’re just friends. “I think I’m gonna finish this at home,” He says. “I’ll send these to you when I’m finished.” He stands up, and grabs his things, and leaves.  


Murdoc is dumbstruck. He hadn’t thought he’d said anything wrong. In fact, he thought that saying he appreciated their friendship was a sappy move. He stands as well, locking the door behind Stu and tapping his fingers against his chest. Everything about the boy has begun to confuse him. He’s never felt anything like this for anyone, and he’s not quite sure where to place it in his database of emotions. All he knows is that whenever they have to pretend they’re romantic it’s awful, and he’s not sure if it’s the romanticism or the pretending. That, and the fact that when he’s not around Murdoc is a little more miserable than usual.  


The next day, papers arrive, and Stu does not. Murdoc is only slightly concerned, and looks over them before making a call.  


“I need to make an appointment with you by tomorrow.”  


The voice on the other end is exasperated. “Mr. Niccals, please. I’m a busy man.”  


Murdoc groans. “I have until the end of the week to meet with my boss, Mike.” His voice is cold, but a whine tugs at the back of his throat. “I have everything I need and I just need you to sketch it out.”  


Mike O’Soft sighs into the phone. “Okay,” He says. “Meet me at my office tomorrow. Eight am sharp. If you’re a minute late we’ll have to reschedule.”  


Murdoc grins. “I’ll see you then,” He hangs up and dials Stu’s landline.  


“Hello?” A deep American accent answers. “Who’s this?”  


“Um, Murdoc Niccals.”  


The voice sighs. “Oh. ‘D, IT’S FOR YOU. No, No man you don’t gotta come over here just pick up the one in your room- ‘D I’ll hang up, Christ, man. You ever used a phone before?”  


Stu’s voice enters the line. “I think I’ve got it Russ. Murdoc? Can you hear me?”  


A click on the line, and it’s just Stu now.  


“Hey, Stu. I got your papers. I scheduled a meeting with the artists for tomorrow at eight. You could help me?”  


There’s a pause on the other end.  


“Stu?”  


“I really don’t feel like pretending to be your boyfriend again.” When it’s said aloud it sounds so stupid and childish. “Can’t you do it alone? Everything is on the papers.”  


“Yeah, yeah I can. I just wanted to let you know it was happening, give you the option to make sure I don’t butcher the designs.”  


“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you, Murdoc.”  


A click on the line again, and Murdoc is alone.  


The next morning, he’s in Mike’s office at seven fifty-eight. Mike is late by three minutes and Murdoc has never felt so uncomfortable standing outside of someone’s broom closet office.  


“Sorry,” Mike says when he arrives, opening his office with a key on a ring of many others. “Traffic was bad this morning.”  


His Irish accent is something Murdoc has never believed to be real. “‘It’s fine. I have all of the descriptions. There are six designs, three colour palettes each. How long will this take?”  


Mike shrugs. “Depends on the complexity.”  


They spend hours in the cramped office. Right off the bat Mike had apologized about the heat- they’d turned off AC on this floor of his building- and Murdoc, sweating stains into his clothes, wondered why he’d opted for such a pathetic loser to be his sketch artist. The art isn’t bad, though.  


There’s not much to do while Mike draws. He would leave for lunch and come back, but he’s known Mike for long enough to know that without Murdoc’s evil eye keeping a glare on him, he’ll get so off track he won’t even remember why he’s in his own office. Other than an opportunity to exfoliate through profuse perspiration, Murdoc takes the uncomfortable hours to think about an uncomfortable subject once again: Stu.  


He’d been concerned two days ago when Stu had left with no reason, but he’d expected whatever he’d done to blow over by now. He’s never had any close friends, but he wonders if this is just some hormonal teenager thing. He imagines, though, that asking that would not be a good idea.  


“Hey,” He interrupts the silence that had fallen upon him and Mike.  


Mike looks up from his computer, where he’d been digitally drawing everything Stu had described. “What?”  


“You have any friends?”  


Mike looks at him blankly.  


“Right, sorry.”  


He leans back in his chair and rolls up his sleeves. A drop of sweat slides down his cheek and he thinks of last week with Stu, when rain dripped from his hair and onto his face and he’d expected the colour to bleed. He’d called it a date, when he told Chip where he was going. He wonders if that would have really been considered a date, if they weren’t just friends, if they’d have been even closer if it were, or if anything would have been different. He’d never really considered anything like that. That there was even a possibility that the energy emanating from Stu that night was just beauty, or that Murdoc is even capable of feeling anything but lust for someone.  


He clears his throat. “I’m going to get some water. If you get off task, I’ll cut out your tongue.”  


He stands up and leaves the room, walking across the floor to the water jug and grabbing a paper cup. He’s not sure if he feels anything other than friendship, but the lust isn’t far off. It’s the only thing that can explain how he can’t keep his eyes or mind off of the boy, why everything seems to remind him of him and his company isn’t draining but energizing instead, and why he isn’t annoyed by Stu’s clear crush on him but enamored.  


And slowly, over long sips of tepid water, he realizes how he fucked up. His lust for Stu- or whatever feelings there might be- must be showing, even if he’s not aware of it himself, and calling whatever thing that’s been budding right underneath his banged up nose a friendship must have hurt Stu. He crushes the cup in his hands and sullenly walks back into the office.  


“Let’s hurry this up, Mike. I’m not in the mood.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yall asked for this

Once Murdoc is in the clear regarding his line, he forgets about it completely. His every thought is about how goddamned lonely his big empty apartment is, how the faces that glare down at him only judge and a face that admires and understands would be so different. He hasn’t seen Stu in two weeks, and it’s eating at him. He’s never had a friend, or a crush, or whatever he is before, and the fear of that person not wanting to see or be around him is enough to make him want to drink regardless of how his stupid show is going.  


He wonders if Stu misses him, or if he really just pissed the boy off so badly that every time Stu thinks about him his blood boils. At times he debates calling him, but Stu’s voice and the exasperation in it rings through his ears and he always changes his mind right before dialing. He’s got no one else. He only talks to Chip when he goes outside and he’s been too melancholy to do that, and talking to Cindy would require leaving his home, and god forbid he ever stoop so slow as to talk to Mike outside of mandated time. There’s also the factor that he simply doesn’t enjoy them as much as he does Stu. They never make him laugh, and none of them have that special kind of beauty that makes it difficult to look away while speaking to them.  


It takes only four days for Murdoc to realize he’s hooked. Four long days of wondering if he’s sick or having chest pains because the stress of those damn sketches is finally over; four days of white sheets piled on the floor at the end of his bed because he realized he’d never actually washed them after Stu slept in them, and although he’s revolted that a grimy little drunk got his sheets dirty, he feels like washing them will wash away the morning after the sheets were dirtied. He only realizes that it’s more than just a friendship or even lust when he opens the cupboard and sees a little red and white tin with packets of peppermint tea in it and feels a sinking in his stomach like he’s just been dumped. That’s when he makes himself a mug and shamelessly puts on the cheesiest thing he can watch without cringing, and snuggles up in a blanket on his couch for longer than he’ll ever admit.  


It takes him two weeks to muster up the courage to actually call. He tells himself that god damn it, communication is a two-way street, and the chances are that the boy misses him just as much and he’s just too meek or stubborn to admit it. As he dials he hopes that one of Stu’s roommates doesn’t answer, that he’s not known to them as some asshole who broke the poor boy’s heart or anything. He’s been that guy before, but he’s never cared before.  


The phone rings for a painful amount of time and Murdoc debates wussing out and hanging up, but as he begins to set his phone down, the ringing stops.  


“Hello?” It’s Stu’s voice.  


Murdoc’s heart skips a beat. “Stu,” He says.  


“Murdoc?”  


He clears his throat. “Hey,” He tries to keep his breathing in check. “Um, first of all, thank you for the sketches. My boss actually liked them, so, you must have kept those distractions out of your head.” He’s well aware that those distractions were him, and that him being out of Stu’s mind means he shouldn’t be calling.  


“Oh, yeah. I’m glad you liked them.”  


For a few moments, the line is silent, and Murdoc bites his lip. He only wants to know what Stu is thinking, and if he could just understand his tone.  


“I miss you,” He blurts. He can’t believe he’s said that, and he nearly apologizes.  


“What?” Stu asks.  


Murdoc sighs. “I miss you.” He can feel his dignity flying out the window. “Like, I’m sorry I called you just a friend. I miss you in a not so friendly way.” He’s no clue what he’s saying anymore.  


Stu stays silent for a little bit before replying. “Are you drunk again?” He asks.  


“Chillingly sober.” He answers.  


“And you mean it?”  


“Please come over. I don’t know what I need right now, but you’ve got it.”  


Stu’s heart swells up. He clutches the phone with a sweaty hand. “Tell me you mean it.”  


“I do.”  


The entire way to Murdoc’s flat, Stu cannot believe what is happening. For the past two weeks he has been trying desperately to avoid making Murdoc any more uncomfortable than he already clearly was. He’d even refused to go to the meeting with him, in hopes that making it obvious he was uninterested (or at least, pretending to be), but now that Murdoc has given him hope, he’s leaving the feigned disinterest behind. His heart seems to beat out of his chest as he sits at the edge of the bus seat.  


At Murdoc’s door, he hesitates. He wonders if he’s taking this all wrong, if his excitement is preemptive, but he knocks regardless.  


Murdoc answers immediately. He looks at Stu with wide eyes and steps back from the door to let him in. Stu walks in and closes the door with his back.  


“How have you been?” Murdoc asks, backing up and keeping his eyes on Stu.  


Stu walks forward as he walks back, maintaining the same distance. “Not great. I’ve been lonely. Noodle and Russel have jobs and you know, you and I haven’t been talking.” He says.  


Murdoc stops at the couch when he cannot back up anymore, and he sits down. “I’ve been lonely too. I didn’t realize how much of a difference you made in my life.”  


Stu blushes and sits down next to him. “I mean, I’m fully aware of the difference you’ve made in mine.”  


Murdoc nods. It hasn’t been that long but he’d forgotten about the glow that surrounds Stu. He leans forward and brushes a piece of hair behind his ear. “Sorry, it was bugging me.”  


“It’s fine,” He smiles. Being so close to him is something that he’s been dreaming of since he was in middle school.  


Murdoc scoots closer and mutters, “I’ve never wanted to kiss someone and not known how to get around to do it,”  


Stu feels butterflies begin to mass migrate inside of him. He cups Murdoc’s cheek and bites his lip. “I’d always imagined you’d be more dominating,”  


Murdoc scowls at him. “I would be plenty dominant if you were just a fuck.” He says. “I don’t know how to do anything if I care.”  


Stu grins and leans in, kissing him gently. He mumbles against his lips, “I’ve got plenty experience caring for the both of us,”.  


Murdoc kisses him back, and the feeling of lips against his own instead of teeth clashing against teeth is foreign to him, but hell, does it feel good, and Stu’s lips are warm and chapped and move slowly against his own. He wraps his arms around Stu’s waist and pulls him closer, and the feeling he gets from this is so different from any other kiss he’s ever had, so soft and warm and Stu’s back is so soft and warm and he feels for once like going slow is the right option.  


When he pulls away, the first thing he sees is the bright red of Stu’s cheeks. The first thing he hears is a soft pant, and if he hadn’t been sure he was hooked already he would be certain now. He moves from two arms to one and runs a hand through that soft blue hair of his, and he chuckles. “It would probably be more comfortable if you weren’t leaning over so much.”  


Stu nods. “You’re right,” He breathes, and effortlessly, Murdoc pulls him into his lap. “I’ve only ever dreamt of this,”  


Murdoc grins. “That’s so creepy.” He kisses him again, and this time chapped lips open and Murdoc is shocked that the inside of Stu’s mouth is warmer than his skin. Hand slips under soft cotton and presses against flushed skin; sweatier hands grip silk shirt and twitch between wrinkling Murdoc’s shirt and trying to smooth it out. Murdoc had never imagined he’d feel gums with his tongue, but Stu’s little gap isn’t that bad and his body is so reactive that Murdoc finds it hard to keep himself under control.  


Lips separate and Stu presses his forehead against Murdoc’s. “I’m sorry if I’m too excited,” His breaths are short. “It’s just that it’s you, and I’m so nervous and you’re better at this than you led on,”  


Murdoc quiets him with his lips, his thumb rubbing against the hair on the back of Stu’s neck. Stu’s eyes flutter closed and his hands finally settle on a spot clutching at Murdoc’s back; it comes naturally to Murdoc, holding him and kissing him without being too fast or too slow. It’s all he’s been thinking about for two weeks, and now that it’s happening he cannot think at all.  


Stu’s breathing heavies and he pants against Murdoc’s lips, “Is this okay?”, as he starts to move against him. Murdoc nods and leans back against the arm of the couch, hands exploring the ridges of Stu’s spine as he bends to meet his lips; holding his gently rocking hips as Stu grips his shoulders with palms so sweaty they make the fabric of his shirt damp.  


Murdoc had been worried that once Stu was in his grasp he’d move too fast, that he’d jump his bones and regret it, but this does not feel too fast whatsoever- the pace feels melodic, like everything Stu does, and he once again finds himself so entranced in whatever Stu does to him that he cannot do anything against his most raw instinct. When shaking hands move to undo his shirt buttons, he pulls away because he knows there’s no way they’re coming undone if Stu is more focused on what’s happening to his body. Murdoc watches him, once again mesmerized by that furrowed brow and the way he makes any little task look like brain surgery to perform.  


“Need any help?” He asks. He’s more out of breath than he’d thought.  


“Please,” Stu asks, his struggling hands resting on Murdoc’s pecs.  


Murdoc has to wrench his hand from buried deep under Stu’s shirt to undo his buttons. “I hope you realize,” He says as he shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders. “That you have to do it, too.”  


Stu takes his own off without another word, and Murdoc cannot believe he took the sight for granted only weeks prior. If he’d thought Stu’s chest was flushed the first time he’d seen it, he’d been wrong. This is flushed. So pink it looks like he’s been at the beach, so warm Murdoc can imagine falling asleep easier than he has in years if he just rests his head against it.  


“You’re so beautiful,” He looks at the boy in his lap. “And not in the model way. I mean, you could easily model but, I think you look better here than you would in front of a greenscreen.”  


Stu cannot help the grin that splits his face like an overgrown melon. “You’ve gotten much better with words since the last time I saw you,” He gushes.  


Everything after that is a blur. A cacophony of sounds Murdoc never would have imagined the meek man he’d had his first meeting with could make; a myriad of feelings Murdoc could never have associated with physical intimacy, and so much skin to skin contact- thigh to thigh and cheek to chest, Murdoc can faintly remember his own lips on a bony little shoulder and the feeling of a surprising amount of chest hair against his nose.  


Stu’s voice is the only thing that brings him out of his haze. “Can I stay?” His voice is so light and airy, so opposite of the sounds he’s been making for as long as Murdoc’s short term memory can withstand.  


Murdoc looks at him with eyes that have just lost their glaze. “Are you serious?”  


Stu feels himself begin to slip from cloud nine.  


“I’m holding you so close I can’t tell which heartbeat is my own.” Murdoc buries his face in Stu’s neck, leaving light pecks that cover his lips in sweat. “You don’t even need to ask.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and 2D are head over heels for each other (aka The Night After (tm) pt 2)

Murdoc wakes up to freshly cleaned sheets around him and scratch marks burning into his back. He wakes up for the first time in his life because he was excited to see what awaited him upon opening his eyes. What awaits him, of course, is a sleeping boy beside him, still nude and covered in little marks that Murdoc had not seen the night before. Usually when Murdoc wakes up and his last fling is still in his bed, he’ll go out and grab a coffee and they’re gone by the time he comes back, but this time he only wants to drink in this moment and he hopes the body in his bed never leaves.  


Cautiously, he leans over and presses a kiss to a clammy back, rubbing at his spine. He can’t help himself- the way the sheets frame his body is too alluring and as the boy begins to stir he curses himself for not making breakfast first.  


“Hmm?” Stu says, sitting up. He rubs his eyes and slowly they open, and when they do they widen for a moment before relaxing as he smiles. “Thank god. I was worried I’d wake up in my own bed with a puddle in my pants again.”  


Murdoc smirks, and shakes his head, kissing his cheek. “I hope this is a better scenario, although I didn’t make you any breakfast.”  


Stu blushes, and he gently stretches, his bones cracking and a small mewl-like sound coming from his mouth. Murdoc could watch him like this for the rest of his life.  


“I don’t need any breakfast,” He yawns. “Actually, I’d like to ask you something.”  


Murdoc nods. Instinctively fear fills him, and he wonders what he could have done wrong in the thirty seconds Stu has been awake.  


“Can we, um,” Stu clears his throat. “Can we cuddle?”  


Murdoc grins and wraps his arms around the boy’s waist, flopping himself onto the bed. He’s never been much of a cuddler but Stu’s body feels so good in his arms and against him that he cannot decline. “Did I wake you too early?”  


Stu rests his head on Murdoc’s chest, his ear against his collarbone and his mouth in the middle of his chest. “Maybe,” He says. A small hand rests over Murdoc’s ribs and the other is nowhere to be seen. “But now that I’m lying on you I can go back to bed, yeah?”  


Murdoc smiles softly as he finds the missing hand with his own. “Sure,” He answers, tangling their legs and lacing their fingers together. “Sweet dreams.”  


Stu’s sleeping body is heavier than Murdoc had expected, but it’s a nice heavy that presses down on him like a blanket, and although his view isn’t wonderful, the feeling of his chest rising and falling is enough to make Murdoc swoon at this point. He’d expected the call to go to voicemail, or a harsh rejection, but instead he got everything he wanted and more. He doesn’t feel he deserves this. He feels like inevitably he’s going to hurt the boy, like he’s a fragile piece of china and Murdoc is a bull who can’t keep away. But for right now, he ignores his worries, and focuses on the smell of all that hair right under his nose.  


“Wow. You really are still a teenager.” Murdoc says, looking at himself in the mirror. Stu is standing beside him, and it takes more self control than he thought he was capable of to look away from him and at himself. “Look at all these hickies.”  


Stu grins mischievously. “Well you left a lot on me too so I don’t know what age has to do with it. And I’m almost twenty.”  


Murdoc shakes his head, turning from the mirror and holding Stu’s waist. “Those are bite marks. I bit, you sucked.”  


Stu grins again. “If you think that’s me sucking, you’ll be surprised the next time we get frisky.”  


Murdoc smiles. “I didn’t know fucking you would unleash this less shy side of you.” He says. “I like it.”  


Stu wraps his arms around his shoulders. “I was only shy because this was all the kind of stuff I ever wanted to say to you.” He leans down to plant a kiss on Murdoc’s head. “Now I can feel free to, right? Now that we’re on the same page.”  


Murdoc nods. “Go ahead, but if any interviewers hear that shit, I’ll have your ass.”  


“You already do,” He smirks, and he pulls from the embrace they’d shared momentarily. “And, also, I’m hungry now. I guess I just needed to sleep a little more before it kicked in.”  


Murdoc slowly wrenches his hands from the small of Stu’s back. “I’ll make you breakfast. Do eggs count as vegetarian?”  


Stu shakes his head. “No eggs, please. I’m going to shower, if that’s okay with you.”  


“Of course.” Murdoc kisses his chin and leaves.  


Breakfast is english muffins with jam, and orange juice. Stu comes out of the shower smelling more like Murdoc than he did last night, and he nearly drops his towel when a “kiss the cook” apron clad Murdoc just has to kiss him for looking like more of a snack than the one he prepared.  


“I made muffins with jam,” Murdoc says between breathless smooches.  


“That’s so sweet,” Stu replies into his mouth.  


Only a stomach growling stops them, and then they eat on the couch with their legs tangled together and that big black blanket Murdoc had used to wallow covering them.  


“Can I ask you a question?”  


Stu nods, head on his shoulder and muffin in his mouth.  


“Why do your roommates call you ‘D?”  


Stu swallows before talking. “It’s short for 2D. Cause I’ve got two dents in my head instead of eyes.” He shrugs. “Started calling me it once it wasn’t such a sensitive subject after my accident and then it stuck.”  


“Can I call you that?” Murdoc asks. “Unless it’s just for all your teenager friends.”  


Stu giggles. “You can call me 2D. Most people don’t use my real name so it’s always weird when you do. I don’t know why I didn’t just introduce myself like that.” He takes another bite of his muffin and talks with his mouth a little full. “I think I was nervous.”  


Murdoc finds that so endearing. The nervousness, the mouth full, the comfort 2D must have with him to just sit naked on a couch and eat muffins together. Everything is coming together so quickly. “I don’t know why you were nervous. You didn’t even recognize me until I spelled it out for you.”  


“It was dark and I was in shock. I’d just sung my heart out and then someone who makes my heart freak out showed up out of the blue.”  


Murdoc grins and warmly rubs his hand against 2D’s bicep. He’d kiss him again but the position they’re in makes it impossible and he’s too comfortable to jeopardize that. “Imagine how I felt. I was just getting my drink and I can’t even focus on anything because you’re up on stage illuminated by thousands of watts. I didn’t even know what to feel, but I was so goddamn entranced by you.” He leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. “You’re a sight to behold.”  


2D looks at him with lidded eyes, muttering softly into his skin. “You’re so good with your words,” He says, moving his head to take a nibble of muffin.  


Murdoc shrugs and holds him closer. “I don’t think before I open my mouth around you.” He rests his chin on the top of 2D’s head. “I think it means I’m comfortable around you.”  


2D smiles at him. “That’s cute. I didn’t peg you as the sweet and sensitive type.”  


“I’m not.” He keeps his head where it is and frowns softly. “I’m usually an asshole. You just got me all soft because you made me think about you nonstop for two weeks and then gave me a reason to keep thinking about you.”  


2D finishes his muffin and hums. “I thought about you nonstop too. My roommates are sick of me talking about you, so I guess I have to gush about you to your face now.” He tilts his head back and Murdoc lifts his chin. “You do know why I left for two weeks, right?”  


“No. I was too busy kissing you to ask.”  


2D grins up at him. “Well, you’re not kissing me now so I guess I’ll tell you. I was really worried that my big crush on you was making you uncomfortable, so I was like, ‘okay, 2D, back off a little bit, give him space so he’s not freaked out and you can draw your sketches,’ and then after that, you didn’t call me so I thought you didn’t want to see me.”  


“What about when I asked you to come to the meeting with me?”  


“Oh. I actually didn’t want to go to that. You always seem so upset when we had to pretend to be dating and it made me feel weird.”  


Murdoc moves over a bit to face him. “You don’t have to feel weird anymore.” He gives him a peck on the lips. “We can go out in public and not have to pretend now that everyone thinks we’re together anyways.”  


“But are we?” 2D asks, returning the light kisses with fervor better used for something less casual.  


“What?” Murdoc holds his waist, eyeing his lips and watching him speak.  


“Like, together. I get it if you think that would be going too fast.” 2D does not think it’s too fast. In fact, he wouldn’t have thought it too fast if Murdoc had appeared in his fourteen year old self’s bedroom and given him a good roughing up back then, either.  


“I don’t think that we’re going too fast. I’ve been thinking about you like this since we got drunk together. I just didn’t realize it was more than friendship until I got a feel for what it was like without you.”  


Words like this make 2D melt. He presses his lips to Murdoc’s cheek and jaw and nose over and over, holding him close. “You mean it? You want to be with me?”  


Murdoc’s eyes are wide and his face is flushed red. “Yes.”  


2D bursts into teeth and lips, a smile wider than Murdoc has ever seen. He hugs Murdoc, burying his face in his neck, and Murdoc has never felt so warm in his life. He hugs back and the feeling of a body pressed so close to his own without need for pleasure is foreign and wild to him, like some strange custom he wasn’t warned of before doing a show in another country, but he likes it. A lot, actually, as he keeps on hugging even when 2D thinks it might be appropriate to pull away, and when 2D is dragged back into the hug he giggles and continues to hold him.  


“Why do I get the feeling that you don’t get much nonsexual physical affection?” He asks, palms flat on his back, feeling the muscle he’d been too scared to touch around a month ago.  


“Because you’re right.” Murdoc answers, closing his eyes and smelling 2D’s hair. He grins. “Your hands are cold.” He whispers, opening his eyes again and shimmying from his grasp.  


2D blushes. “Yeah, sorry. They’re either cold or sweaty depending on whether I’m nervous or not.”  


Murdoc smiles. “You’re not nervous?” He kisses his nose.  


2D looks at him with relaxed features. “Should I be?” He plays with the fur of the blanket covering them.  


Murdoc shakes his head. “No. I think I prefer you being confident. It’s hot.” He grins, taking his hand away from the blanket to hold it.  


2D squeezes his hand, smiling. “I’m only confident because we’re still nude.” His other hand still rests limply on Murdoc’s back. He runs his fingers up and down the crook in the small of his back. “Not that I'm complaining.” He giggles.  


Murdoc shivers at the feeling of cold fingers on his bare skin. “It’s better than having to think about clothes again.” He chuckles, kissing his jaw and humming softly. “I didn’t anticipate you’d take my stress away like this.”  


“I didn’t anticipate this either. I kind of assumed after I turned in those final sketches that was it for the money and you.”  


“Well, that was it for the money. If you weren’t actually willing to go out in public with me, I’d be paying you for it, but I assume you’d like to come on dates with me and sit on my lap for interviews.” Murdoc kisses his jaw again, reveling in the way 2D moves microscopically into each kiss.  


“What if I don’t? Will you pay me, then?”  


Murdoc cups his cheek and rubs his thumb against his skin. “Less than twenty-four hours and you’re using me for my money already?” He chuckles. “Should have known, falling for a teenage boy.”  


“Mmm, yeah.” 2D tilts his head into his palm like a cat into petting. “That’s all I want, cold hard cash.” He runs a hand through Murdoc’s hair and stops it half buried, white knuckles protruding from jet black locks.  


“You’ll just have to be subtle about it. Get me to buy you things when we go out, give me a bit of loving and ask me for gas money on the way out.” He lifts his head and goes in for a kiss.  


2D moves away from his lips and holds out the hand he had had in Murdoc’s hair. “Give me a little something first, hmm?”  


Murdoc shakes his head and rests his head on 2D’s chest. “All I can give is affection,” He says, kissing his chest.  


“I guess that’s fine,” 2D sighs and squeezes his hand again, smiling widely. “So give it to me.”  


Murdoc looks up at him. He’s so comfortable here, with cold hand in his and warm chest under his own. He leans in and kisses him, lips closed and hand open on his cheek.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D has become attached to the work he's done under Murdoc's "mentorship".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are probably about four more chapters going into this fic

The first time Murdoc hears from his boss that the clothing is actually ready, he doesn’t want to bother getting out of bed. He’s sure the clothes are fine- they always are, his boss would never make a mistake- and the head on his chest is warm and unmoving. He feels that if he moves and disturbs the boy’s slumber he’ll never be so peaceful again, and that work will be the end of him. He’d never anticipated a day that he’d have anything he’d rather do over work, but it takes him a long while of breathing in the fumes of soft hair and ignoring calls until he remembers that he’s set something up just for this, that he can bring the joy of his bed to work and he doesn’t have to pretend about anything.  


He moves from under 2D’s weight to grab the phone the next time it rings. “Mmm, sorry, I was asleep,” He lies. “Did I miss anything?”  


“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. We want to meet up today so you can see the clothing, but now we only have so many hours of daylight.”  


Murdoc shifts and gently tugs at 2D’s hair, to wake him. “I can be there before dark, unless your tone is suggesting you’d rather wait until tomorrow.”  


2D wakes with a gentle groan, eyes softly opening and focusing on Murdoc immediately. Murdoc’s hand moves from his hair to his chin.  


“No, today would be glamorous.”  


2D scoots up to trail little kisses over Murdoc’s shoulders. “I’ll see you in an hour, then?”  


“See you.” She hangs up.  


Murdoc sets the phone in its cradle and 2D kisses his jaw. “Who are we meeting?”  


Murdoc rubs his back. “My boss. It has officially taken one month for work to return to me.”  


“And I’m allowed to come along?”  


“Of course.”  


This will be the first time they really leave Murdoc’s apartment as more than just friends. In the past two weeks, time has flown by in steamy nights and warm lazy days, and the only time they’ve spent apart is the time 2D has spent with his friends to catch them up on he and Murdoc’s relationship- brief encounters while he grabs more clothes and apologizes profusely to Noodle for his absence, promising her that after the honeymoon phase he’ll be around more often.  


Murdoc stands from the bed, kissing 2D’s cheek and maneuvering around dirty clothes and crumpled sheets to find new clothes in his closet. “Get dressed, will you? I know you’re lazy but we need to be across town in an hour.”  


2D nods and stretches languidly, grabbing clothes off of the floor and tossing them on after giving them a good sniff. The clothes are stiff and smell awful but he’s reminded of the grime that got him here and ignores it. Murdoc puts on soft and clean clothes, a black turtleneck and blue jeans, and 2D wonders if the more relaxed wardrobe is his doing.  


“You look good,” He grins, wrapping his arms around Murdoc’s neck.  


“I’ve only dressed so casually because a turtleneck will prevent me from looking like a teenaged whore.” He answers, looking up at 2D with feigned disinterest. “I can only wait until I have to do a photoshoot and they bitch at me for the hours they have to spend matching foundation to my skin.”  


2D smiles widely, teeth and gap showing unashamedly. “I’m sorry, I just like the way you look all messed up with bruises. I always see pictures of you and you’re untouched. It’s more real this way.”  


Murdoc rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. It’s not just young lust.” He takes 2D’s hand and drags him from the bedroom and out of the penthouse.  


For the first time, being sprawled over one another in front of network executives feels less fake and uncomfortable and more like Murdoc’s natural sleazy nature is a blessing.  


“So these are the drafts of the designs,” Murdoc’s boss gestures to three outfits on cloth mannequins. “Clearly there will be the colour schemes discussed, but this is how they’ll look and feel otherwise.”  


Murdoc’s hand rests in 2D’s dirty back pocket. “Are you happy with the quality and design?”  


His boss looks at him with disdain. “I would not give you a product I’m unhappy with.”  


“And if you’re happy with it, then how could I not be?” Murdoc is obviously over the situation, focused more on the way 2D glows in the presence of his ideas come to life.  


“You do have a point.” She says.  


Murdoc had not expected this, and his eyes widen. “That’s it?”  


“Listen, Mr. Niccals. We are all as tired as you are. We’re happy with the product and we just want to get it out to the public now. If this is all said and done, I’ll contact you with interview and show dates.”  


Murdoc nods and lets out a small huff from surprise. “Alright. I’ll see you then.”  


On the way out, 2D is slumped over, hands in pockets and body stiffly leaned over Murdoc’s.  


“You’re going to give me back problems,” Murdoc chuckles, holding him up and smiling at him. “What’s got you so down?”  


2D pants into his ear and rests his chin on his shoulder. “It’s just kind of sad how no one seems to care about the clothes.”  


Murdoc turns to look at him, nose pressing against 2D’s cheek. “How so?”  


2D frowns and rubs against his nose, arms over his shoulders and hands held in bigger ones. “I mean, I spent a lot of time on them. It’s not important, I guess.”  


Murdoc shakes his head and rubs his forearms. “It’s important, 2D.” He kisses his cheek and opens the door of the limo for him. “To me, at least.”  


In the back seat, 2D curls around Murdoc and smiles. “That’s sweet, Muds, but it’s okay. I know you’re over it.”  


Murdoc sighs and rubs his side. “The only reason I’m over it is because I’ve been on the other end. These clothes are just going to go out of season in three months.” The limo starts moving and he runs his fingers along 2D’s forearm, stopping at his hand. “They’re just outfits that a model is going to wear for one night that’ll show up in a few fashion catalogues for one month.”  


2D grumbles. “I guess I’m just not used to this life.” He says quietly.  


“Hey, I appreciate what you did for me. You made a lot of money, too.” Murdoc tries to comfort him but he’s never been the type to do any work without recognition and does not relate to the feeling. “And maybe when it all comes out, you’ll see someone out on the street wearing your design. That’ll feel real nice, huh?”  


2D nods and continues to lie limp against him. “You’re right. I guess I just don’t like how harsh and cold business is.”  


Murdoc kisses his temple. “I’m trying to keep you away from it, hmm? You’ve seen what it does to me. I’ll try to avoid more of it when I’m around you, but I will need you for interviews and everything.” He responds to the heavy contact with a gentle hug and a grimace.  


“I’ll still help you with that. I don’t want you to be thrown under the bus because I’m butthurt about your job.” He moves to shift some weight off of Murdoc and sits up straight.  


Murdoc isn’t used to having to deal with- or, to sound less detached, wanting to help with- someone’s emotions. He’s never been close enough to anyone to be held responsible for fixing the problem, or even felt the desire to help anyone with emotional distress, but now the ambiance that 2D’s sadness creates is causing an aching inside of him and all he wants is for the boy sitting beside him to be happier. “I could make everyone a lot more excited about your designs, if you wanted.” This would involve throwing a fit at some point while 2D is away, and jeopardizing the small steps towards equal respect in his relationship with his boss that he has finally made, but to him a small celebrity tantrum is worth it.  


2D beams. “How?”  


“Celebrity magic, 2D.” He waves a hand through the air. “No need to worry about it.”  


Sitting with 2D in close quarters, legs draped over one another, Murdoc realizes that he’s quickly digging himself into a hole he doesn’t want to get stuck in. He’s already willing to sabotage his image in front of his boss for this kid’s happiness and it has only been two weeks, and he’s nearly frightened of what he’ll be willing to do farther down the road. The only thing that eases his nerves is the amount of money he’s already storing in a bank account in Sweden and the amount he’s going to come into once the clothing hits the market. Anything he does for 2D that puts his image or job on the line can’t drain him of his retirement fund.  


“Something on your mind?” 2D asks, clammy hands pressing against Murdoc’s sunken cheeks.  


Murdoc looks at him. “Not really. Just thinking about you and how attached I’ve grown.” He decides it’s best he doesn’t lie about stupid things, so that if he has to lie about anything down the line he won’t feel so bad.  


2D smiles. “Aw, you’re attached already? I forget that you’ve never had a relationship before.”  


“You’re not even twenty, 2D. You’re claiming you’ve had a real one?”  


“Yeah, I dated a girl for like, two years.”  


“While you were obsessing over half naked photos of me?”  


“It was easy to do both. Anyways, she cheated on me so I don’t feel bad about any of that.”  


It’s strange to imagine a past for 2D other than high school. Even then, a two year relationship could have been in high school. “Well. It doesn’t sound like it was a good relationship. Perhaps I’m attached because there’s no reason for me not to be.”  


2D shrugs. “It wasn’t, but I think you’re right. Obviously I’m getting attached too, if it wasn’t clear from how much time I’ve spent at your place.” He grins and takes his hands from Murdoc’s face. “And the time I’ve spent literally attached to you.” He rests his head on Murdoc’s shoulder and smiles warmly.  


Murdoc rubs his shoulder blades and hums. “Like this? Because this kind of attachment is very nice,” He hopes the ride back to his apartment never ends.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the days have come and they are not as rose coloured as Murdoc expects.

In the days before the show, 2D’s excitement is only outweighed by Murdoc’s stress. As the scrawny boy is draped in fabrics by middle aged women and pampered with champagne and gold flaked truffles, Murdoc is sitting at a desk drowning in papers and yelling at twenty-something year old twinks who can’t get their catwalk just right. He nearly yells at 2D when the boy comes onto the stage looking like bambi, but a woman sees the vein in his forehead popping out from his sweaty green skin and hands him a lemon water and tells him to sit down.  


Murdoc had told everyone while 2D was in the bathroom that they’d better make this show a big deal, that he worked so hard with the designs and this was his big break, and his performance had paid off. 2D had gushed at the sight of the venue, and if his eyes were visible they’d sparkle, and so far he’s glowing from the treatment, too- Murdoc feels like finally he’s done something right.  


“Honey, would you rather model an outfit with flats?” The woman’s voice is nasally and loud, and 2D falls flat on his ass out of the shock of hearing it.  


“Yes, please,” He says miserably. He stands from the catwalk, cheeks red, and hops from it.  


Murdoc knows right now that if any models laugh at him they’ll be beaten so badly they can never walk the stage again. All of the models know, too. After pretending to be dating the boy for a month it is easy to truly be together in front of everyone. Murdoc had gone into it expecting to have to hide something, but the first time 2D kisses him in front of everyone he cannot keep still for very long, and when he melts into 2D’s lips and no one gasps or frowns he knows that it is something he will be doing as often as he can. Every break he gets from tearing his hair out because, god damn it, Tyler should be coming out third not fourth and has Brandon worked on his catwalk at all, he spends making sure that 2D is comfortable and the stress isn’t getting to him, too- that, and pampering him with physical affection in an attempt to distract himself from the stress he’s dealing with.  


Normally a good fuck would dissipate any malcontent, but he’s been trying so hard to make whatever he has with 2D more than just a series of horny events, and although the struggle of not jumping the boy’s bones when he sees him all done up in trailer trash makeup that he could smear so beautifully is adding a bit of stress to his already aching shoulders, 2D’s lips on his temple are just as soothing as any fuck could be.  


This is why he follows the stumbling boy back to his dressing room for a hot moment of what he hopes will not be chaste kisses and, just maybe, a little something to hold him off for the next few hours of yelling at beautiful boys. When 2D plops onto his plush couch and the old woman leaves to find the flats that will be the boy’s savior, Murdoc is on him like a mother on a child with a scraped knee.  


“Are your feet feeling alright?” He asks, hands on his shoulders and lips at his ear. “You’re still having fun?”  


2D giggles, the lips brushing against his skin making the hair on the back of his neck raise and tingles go down his spine. “I’m doing fine, Muds.” He can hear the stress in Murdoc’s voice. “I just have very bad balance because of my height.” He leans over to take off the dreaded shoes and in a moment Murdoc is draped over his back. “Are you still stressed?”  


“Dreadfully so,” Murdoc growls, and when 2D sits up and turns to him it’s clear where Murdoc wants this to go.  


“I don’t want an old lady walking in on us making out,” 2D grumbles.  


“I’m known for this kind of stuff, it’s no problem,”  


2D knows that this is true. He’s seen so many tabloid pictures of Murdoc tongue deep in some rando and for so long he has wanted to be that rando, so he grins and wraps his arms around Murdoc’s neck. “You’re right,” He sighs with content. “And it could help us both.” He’d always imagined that a relationship with Murdoc Niccals would be constant shagging- which would not be a problem for a sex addict like Stu- but Murdoc is much more adoring and sweet than the man he’d imagined giving it to him rough for so long.  


Still, when their lips meet and teeth scrape against teeth 2D has no qualms over the lack of anything more. Murdoc’s stress is reflected in his kissing and it makes him some kind of violent, hands everywhere, pulling 2D into positions only a contortionist or a giraffe like himself would be comfortable in, and by the time that little old lady with the flats opens the door, 2D is sprawled out on the couch with his legs up and around Murdoc and his face flushed, and Murdoc is nearly drooling into his neck.  


“Mr. Niccals,” Her frail voice interrupts the pants and groans that 2D cannot help but emit, and both men stop in their tracks. “I have the shoes your model requested. They want you back out on the floor now,” Her voice quivers with fear. From the look of the situation, she could be fired for interrupting something so steamy.  


Murdoc detangles himself from 2D and stands up, tugging at his clothing to hide any signs of his arousal and huffing. “Thank you.” He clears his throat and leaves the room without further notice.  


The night of the show is something that, despite many efforts to make 2D happy by stressing the importance of, is something that Murdoc cannot wait to get over with. After this, his life will be smooth sailing for a few months- interviews and publicity stunts until he has to go on tour. Luckily for him, his spot for the night is on the red carpet, and then a seat in the front row. 2D’s spot, however, is on his arm, and then behind the scenes.  


The red carpet is easy- answering the questions that he’ll have memorized by his first interview and kissing his boyfriend for the cameras (that part is really easy)- but the show itself is hard to sit through. He can’t focus on how largely it is successful, he’s so focused on every little detail that’s gone wrong- Brandon and his god damned walk, landing him an inch too far to the right, and the way that the third outfit is not hanging off of the model’s shoulder exactly as it should. With 2D by his side he would not be in danger of having a stroke, but without him, he’s fearful he’ll be a puddle in his seat by the time the night is over.  


Everything does end up fine, however, and Murdoc manages to keep himself together until the show is over. 2D’s hickies lend to the air of trash they’re supposed to, and Murdoc is grateful that his uncontrollable tendencies haven’t bit him in the ass yet, and even his most problematic models manage to handle themselves for the few hours it takes to get through the night.  


Once the show is over, Murdoc leaves his boss to answer all of the questions, choosing a hot tub in the back of a limo and 2D’s little overworked body in his lap over the thing he’s dedicated the last year of his life to. Normally this night would lead to an existential nightmare, but the promise of interviews and touring to come soothes the worries that Murdoc has of a chapter of his life ending, and instead of drinking away his worries he only drinks enough that the next day’s slew of interviews will go by miserably and the night’s celebration with 2D in the comfort of his bed will go by wonderfully.  


And that is exactly what happens. He wakes up an hour before his first interview is scheduled (he was smart enough to schedule everything for a hangover-doable hour) with 2D draped over him like a bearskin rug and dried up splooge all over his chest. He wakes 2D up so that they can shower together- not the best idea if they had actually wanted to get clean- and thirty minutes later they’re a bit damp, a lot more awake, and in the backseat of his limo.  


The first interview begins with questions about his outfit designs that he cannot answer. He puts his sunglasses on and feigns too hungover to answer, and 2D answers for him under the guise that as Murdoc’s current snack he’s heard everything.  


“How would you describe the creative process for your designs?” The interviewer asks.  


Murdoc grumbles miserably, “Little quieter, hmm?”  


2D clears his throat. “Muds told me that he mainly took inspiration from the different sides of his image and tried to apply them more universally to the common public.” He blushes. “All his words, of course.”  


The rest of the interviews of the day get slowly and slowly more bearable for Murdoc to handle. Eventually he just rephrases everything that 2D had said in the first few and makes them sound like his own pretentious brainchild. It’s easy for him to pretend that he’s a creative genius, and it’s easy for 2D to pretend that he’s entirely enamored by said creative genius. The only difficulty for Murdoc is pretending not to be irritated by the lack of creativity in the interview questions, and trying his hardest to avoid snapping at the fifteenth person to ask him how it feels to move up from being a model to being a designer to just get the answer from the last guy and paraphrase.  


It’s hard to believe that this is what he’s been looking forward to since he was offered the opportunity to make his own line. He always forgets that nothing is ever as glamorous as the magazines portray, that sometimes he’ll read something while waiting in the express line to check out his condoms and box wine and realize that while everyone else sees a banging night at the club for Murdoc Niccals all he can remember is vomiting an inch from the toilet onto a beautiful broad’s open toed heels, and right now the sound of the same questions repeated hundreds of times in the span of a few hours sounds eerily like a drunk woman’s screaming once she’s realized her pedicure is covered in puke. The only consolation is that instead of a drunk woman forcing him to pay for knockoff shoes, he’s got a boy with a goofy smile in his lap.  


The first night after a day of interviewing, the only thing that keeps him from spiralling into boredom facing the next month without any deviation from routine is the boy that stumbles into his room wearing stilettos of his own design and half of an already risque outfit, and the cooing that comes from his thin lips in a successful attempt to soothe his stress and irritation.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new career venture for 2D.

For months after 2D met Murdoc Niccals, the only singing he’s been doing is in the shower, or melodies spun from his throat at Murdoc’s touch. He enjoys his quiet position in all affairs outside of the bedroom, because sitting back and looking pretty comes naturally to him, and he knows that at any given moment Murdoc will drop everything to hear him sing, but singing to one’s lover is not the same as singing to a grimy audience. And he hasn’t picked up a microphone or a keyboard since he left his temporary band- which, in itself is a shame; he’d assumed when he made his position with them temporary he’d only leave to sign with a record label or another band.  


“Murdoc,” The way this word bubbles out from his lips reminds him of how ugly his speaking voice is. His lips tremble at the deep ‘u’ sound and linger, and then the high ‘o’ is blurted from the depths of his throat like it has been stuck there for ages.  


“Yes, dear?” Murdoc is always his sweetest right after a tumble around in the sheets. 2D thinks that this is because he’s released tons of pent up stress and frustration into him, and all that’s left is the loving and warm part of Murdoc that’s pushed down into his gut by the ugly things.  


“Do you remember the night you met me?” Stuart tangles his index finger in the thick curls that adorn Murdoc’s chest. His nose tickles the sweaty spot between Murdoc’s ear and jaw, and his breath is light and hot against his neck.  


“Of course I do. That’s when everything changed.” Murdoc’s hands are in different spots on 2D’s bare back, rubbing and stroking at tense spots along his spine and shoulder blades.  


“Do you remember how I was singing in that band?” He asks. His voice wavers. He knows that Murdoc will remember, but the fact that it has been long enough that this is a reasonable question to ask is jarring. 2D remembers a time where there was not a single day that went by without him singing for someone.  


“I do. Why?”  


“Was I good?” His fingers stop tracing circles in the patch of hair on Murdoc’s chest.  


“Yeah,” Murdoc answers. “Why else would I have talked to you? You were amazing.” His rubbing slows and he grabs 2D by the hips, sitting the both of them up so that Stuart is in his lap and he is lying with his back to the headboard.  


“I was wondering,” He takes a moment to adjust to his new spot. “If you could help me sing professionally. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you have lots of fame and you probably know a record producer, and it’s something I really really want, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot recently and I really do miss singing and-” He stops himself. He’s so nervous that he’s beginning to speak like he had when he and Murdoc first met.  


“I could help you. I think you would be a very successful singer.” Murdoc kisses his collarbone and mumbles into his skin. “We’ll meet with a producer tomorrow.”  


And that is the beginning of a rapidly blossoming music career. Their first meeting with a producer leaves Murdoc and the big man stunned, and 2D’s book of nonsensical lyrics lend him a hand when he’s asked how quickly he can churn out a debut album. If he hadn’t had Murdoc by his side, he’d be crumpled with anxiety and stress, but the model and his endless publicity (and endless kisses) give him a firm stance in his quickly rising spot on the social ladder.  


A month later, and he’s released a single titled Clint Eastwood. His outings with Murdoc lend him magazine articles that change their titles from “Murdoc and his Blue Lover” to “Murdoc and Rapidly Rising Singer”, and eventually even his name. His gigs at grimy, empty bars turn into shows at small venues with people who are there only to see him. And Murdoc is there for him through all of it. There is no need to be jealous of sudden fame when oneself is already famous enough, and the opportunity to see his boy looking the same enchanting way he had when they first met is nothing short of heavenly.  


There is a night, shortly after his first full album releases, that 2D finally has the full pressure of fame land on him. He and Murdoc are in a club, dark and loud, in the back of the VIP section. He is barely even old enough to be inside and he is in his teenage dream’s lap with free drinks coming at him by the hour.  


The music is so loud that he can barely hear himself think, so he presses his lips to Murdoc’s ear to whisper. “Do you think that being famous changed you?” He asks.  


Murdoc looks at him with amused confusion. “Why do you ask?” He makes no effort to be louder, and 2D has to read his lips.  


“Well,” 2D continues to whisper, and the tickle it must leave in Murdoc’s ear earns him a hand on his thigh. “I feel like I never would have done this kind of thing before I got famous. I would have preferred anything else, actually.”  


Murdoc grins. “You were homeless. Of course you would have hated being in such close vicinity to all of these rich fucks. And anyways, this is for publicity. If you rub elbows with the rich ones, you’ll become one.”  


2D nods. “I guess I just don’t like the loudness. I think I feel a migraine coming on.” He grumbles.  


They leave the club to stand in the cold alleyway behind it. 2D steals Murdoc’s thick coat, leaving the model in a thin turtleneck that provides no real warmth. He lights a smoke and both of them indulge in the warm smoke that fills their lungs.  


“Do you feel any better?” Murdoc asks. His breath is shaky and he crosses his arms for warmth, to which 2D opens the stolen coat and envelops Murdoc in it.  


“I do.”  


“How does your poor head survive concerts?”  


2D chuckles. “That’s different. I’m too caught up in the moment to hear a thing. And I haven’t had too big of a concert yet. But I will soon.”  


“Will you?” Murdoc stopped being a part of the meetings 2D has with his music producing people once the initial anxiety of making it big wore off. Their only alone time together comes when neither of them are working with their companies, which is only a few times a week.  


“Yeah, I’m going on tour for the summer, I think. Just in Europe and the U.S., because my new album has been selling brilliantly there.” 2D’s cheeks shine rose from both the February air and the exciting prospect of months worth of performances.  


“That’s exciting. Are you thinking of beginning in May, or June?”  


2D hums. “Probably May, when it gets warmer. Do you want to come with me?”  


Murdoc rests his head on a bony shoulder, and nods. “I do want to, but summer is busy for me, too. Fashion weeks, and all.” He kisses the cold cloth that separates his lips from fragile skin, and wraps an arm around 2D. “But this is very exciting for you,”  


2D nods. He is a little upset that he’ll be even more apart from Murdoc during the summer than he has been in the past month or two, but the excitement that comes from his knowledge that singing is what he will do for the rest of his life is overwhelming. He knows that he would be nowhere without Murdoc, and wonders how well he will survive without the man with him through touring, but the feeling of cold lips against his chest is enough to quell his worries.  


The months leading up to May are hectic. 2D begins to wonder how all of the cute photos of celebrities out on the town together are even taken, he sees Murdoc so little, and on the occasions that they do see one another, the passion all but dies out the moment one of them mentions work. 2D wonders how their relationship was founded in Murdoc’s job if he has become an escape from it, and the singing that comes from him when Murdoc releases all of that pent up frustration begins to remind him of all of the things he has not yet done. Still, once they realize that perhaps the physical aspect of their relationship needs a bit of cooling, they spend more time than ever sitting on Murdoc’s couch over tea and talking.  


In the late days of February, Murdoc takes 2D on a valentine’s day date to the park that they fed ducks at. Murdoc feeds him chocolate covered strawberries and peppers his face in kisses, and curses the cold weather for sending all of the ducks away. Then he thanks the cold weather for all of the cuddles he gets when the breeze comes in, and gushes about how he shouldn’t have taken their initial duck feeding date for granted.  


In March, they take the opportunity to drink their weight in green beer until it is no longer sold, and spend all of their free time canoodling in dark bar booths where the paparazzi’s camera flashes would only bother them sober. Sloppy kisses find themselves on tabloid covers and bars sell their food dyed booze for at least a week longer than usual just for the patrons who come just to try and catch a glimpse of the lovebirds. In that month, their physical spark seems to come back, but only until their meetings come accompanied with dreadful hangovers and liver pain that is worsened by pills.  


In April, pouring rain comes with long nights on the couch where 2D sings rough drafts to a very willing Murdoc, and when the songs stop, the thoughts come flowing from his mouth as they pop into his brain. The last nights before 2D must pack up and go are filled entirely with every single worry and philosophy that Stuart fears he won’t remember by the next time he can see Murdoc. Each one is soothed by Murdoc with kisses on the forehead and thin fingers through thick hair. Their relationship becomes stronger in these last few days than it ever has been, fueled more by understanding and appreciation than physical attraction.  


On the first of May, 2D has a concert in London. After that, a late night flight to the U.S., where Murdoc sees 2D off in front of a private jet the likes of which 2D is stunned by and Murdoc is used to. They haven’t been apart for more than a few days since they’ve gotten together, even with the sudden overflow of work to be done by the both of them, and 2D cries in front of the luggage carrier when Murdoc asks him to call when he lands.  


Murdoc squeezes his hand and kisses his cheek and doesn’t leave until the plane takes off.


End file.
